I am plain and simple.
A white t-shirt kinda girl.
Wheat bread with low-fat mayo.
Sunscreen with 45 SPF.
I am a no-name designer chick. Don’t care what the label says, as long as it fits and I feel comfortable. And it doesn’t cost too much.
I’m average. My smile lights up a room sometimes, when I’m sincere. When am I sincere?
I can be filet mignon, but don’t put it past me to order a burger. Nah, scratch that. Not a burger girl. Now a panini with roasted peppers and mozz.
Vanilla shake, no gimmicks. Highlights were a big step for me. So was costume jewelry. Shoes: Payless or Target… Mano-Bla-Who?
No belts. I’m accessory-less, and like it that way.
Makeup, more not that often. Base—I have nothing to cover up. You can see it all. Just look. There aren’t really any secrets. What you see is what you get.
A vanilla wafer. Reliable. You always know it’s going to taste good. You can count on me, most of the time, unless I say Yes, when I really should have said No, and then I get brave and tell you no afterall.
I’ll have you over, I’ll drink wine with you. A box of Reduced-fat wheat thins. Some cut-up block of cheese. If you’re lucky, Havarti, smooth and creamy to go along with the low-fat wheat thins.
No gimmicks. It’s just me. Take it or leave it.
Not gonna try to one-up you on the things I have, the money we make, the trips we take. Don’t care that I drive a mini-van. It’s me. Simple as that.
When I’m sad. You know it. Because I am a hermit crab, stuck inside the shell, not willing to get out there and search for a larger, more colorful one. I’ll stay there until I am too crunched inside and feel the pain of the confines of my shell.
Then I have to leave, whether I want to or not.
Bland. But not bland like plain oatmeal; maybe a touch of cinnamon. Get me in the right frame of mind, and I’m fun to be around. Will smile at everyone in the room. Will ask you about you. What do you do? What’s your favorite thing to do? Why did you choose to be who you are? When I’m out of my shell, I will pull you out of yours. Even if you are so far deep inside, you haven’t seen the sunlight in ages.
I’m not a perfectionist, but I want to be something. I want to do something. I am someone. I have done some things. I am a mother; a wife; sometimes a lover; a daughter; a sister; an in-law. A friend.
I always write thank you notes. Thanks for the night over. Thanks for the cookies. Thanks for bringing me flowers on a day you knew I was sad. Thanks for rejecting me.
I’m nice. I won’t make you feel as if you don’t belong at the party. In fact, I’ll seek you out. Want to talk to you. Will want to get to know you. Want to hear your stories. Because maybe someday, I can weave those stories into mine.
A white t-shirt, non-descript; no label. Nothing you’d look twice at if you passed me on the street. But if you saw me laughing, you can bet I’m usually pretty happy. Sincerity, truth, plain and simple. Kind, yet there is a mean bolt hidden inside. Many people haven’t seen it. There’s no need for mean-ness. Not in my world.
I don’t know how to end this. I’m just a white t-shirt, drinking some white wine, laughing at something funny and stupid I’ve said. I crack up at stupid things I’ve said. Yeah, I guess I do like me how I am. Yeah. I do.
Because I will make you feel as if I care. Because I do.