Somewhere along the way, I became that girl.
That girl. You know. That one.
I’m the girl whose windshield wipers break and then when she fixes them, she runs out of windshield washer fluid on the way to work. And then she switches to a rental car for a business trip and it’s out of washer fluid too. And I’m the girl who believes the rental car company when they tell her that a Mitsubishi Gallant is a ‘full-size car’. I’m the girl who tried to buy black tights last winter but was told that they don’t get tights in until summer with the rest of the winter merchandise. That girl who went back in the summer and bought two pairs of black tights. The girl whose big toe went right through both pairs of black tights on each first wearing.
I’m the girl you want to go to the bars with. The girl who will sing with you to every song you love and she knows the words too, not just some jumbleglarglehootersnuffer like some people might. The girl who tells you how hot you look and then uses some specific analogy to make you feel good. The one who makes friends with the staff and the people around you and has strangers hugging her by the end of the night.
I’m the girl who won’t walk through rabbit tracks on fresh fallen snow. I’m the girl who tries to catch snowflakes on her tongue, even in March. I’m the girl who huffs the lilacs in May like she was trying to store all of that lovely scent in her brain’s smell pantry. The girl who watches on road trips to point out a hawk sitting on a highway sign. I’m the girl who knows the answer to the ridiculous trivia question and says things like ‘You know what I could really go for? Some Google banana flavored peanut butter.’ I’m the girl who can locate your high school boyfriend on the Internet. I’m the girl who buys you Wacky Packs for your birthday that she got on Ebay. I’m the girl who tells the world via her diary that you remind her of sperm when you swim.
I’m the girl everyone says hi to at work. The girl who always smiles automatically. The girl who physically cannot help herself from smiling at people who smile at her and once caught herself smiling at a cartoon dog on television with a lopsided grin. And if you start to cry in front of her, I’m the girl who will cry with you so you won’t feel weird. In fact, I’m the girl who can’t watch certain Disney movies without crying. Like Monsters, Inc. The girl who sets her TiVo to record Mister Rogers, knowing full well that she’s going to cry again. And that 31, almost 32, is really too old to still be upset about not having a Mister Rogers anymore.
I’m the girl who will crochet you a scarf–a glam scarf, but still a scarf–to keep you warm. I’m the girl who worries that you might get a chill. I’m the girl who lived with two cats for ten years and still lives with one because her husband loves them. I’m the girl who is terribly allergic to cats. I’m the girl who wants to make you tea when you get sick and make you drink juice until you turn purple and eat chicken and stars soup even though you’re a vegetarian who is watching your sodium intake.
I’m the girl everyone thinks is a little weird. I’m the girl who wants to believe she’s cool but knows she isn’t and marvels that she has everyone so convinced. I’m the girl who is happy to be your best friend but doesn’t have a best friend of her own. I’m the girl who respects your Oreo dependence. I’m the girl who will be ready to fight someone she doesn’t know if they made you feel bad. Even though she doesn’t believe in violence and even though she grew up spouting Lennon lyrics and reading Herman Hesse, you know I’m the girl who is fully able to kick their ass. For you. Sometime, someplace, someway, somehow. I’m that girl.
