Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Revelations 2:17 - "I love you just the way you are, Blueberry Muffin"

Yes, as the catchy title denotes, on this 17th day of February, I have had yet another revelation. Are you ready for it?

To paraphrase Strawberry Shortcake circa 1989, "Don't change yourself, Blueberry Muffin, especially not because you think other people want you to. I love you just the way you are."

If Strawberry Shortcake was some smokin' hot dude and Blueberry Muffin was an equally hot, size-12-pants and accident-prone chicka who oddly resembles myself, and they felt pretty much zero sexual attraction to each other, perhaps I might have taken more note of that life lesson at the tender age of 6: that lesson that, well, perhaps I'm actually ok just as I AM... and that it is possible to still be clumsy AND loved - PLUTONICALLY - by a guy.

Unfortunately, growing up in an environment where I spent most of my childhood crying into a 4L tub of Oreo ice cream after being made fun of by 10-year-old boys for relatively inconsequential parts of myself I had very little control over (you know, like my thighs), I did not heed Strawberry Shortcake's words at ALL. In fact, for the past quarter century of existence, I've held this delusion that I am just not worthy of hot guys. Not to have as boyfriends, not be their friend, not even as a distant relative. That guys who I find attractive live on this pedestal across an impossible chasm, and not only would they never find Hideous Me equally attractive, but they are not even *remotely* accessible as human beings: they're like these androids that you can watch from afar but don't even bother trying to jump the fence to have a close look.

And I won't even get INTO those nighttime fantasies I would fall to sleep to: fantasies of princes on white stallions, riding into my sad awkward social life, plucking me from the crowd, crowning me, paying off my debt (that part entered around age 22-ish), and letting me show them off to all the guys who'd rejected me in the past. How did that show up in my real life? Easy. I just tried to seduce every good-looking guy I laid my eyes on, no pun intended.

And of course that's worked out exceedingly well.

Now, I bring this up because I had a particulary painful experience tonight involving a boy, let's call him Mr. C, who loves me back... like a SISTER. Once again I was duped! This time, I was SO SURE it could happen. I mean, come on, he talked about the UNIVERSE for chrissake, we were MEANT to be together!

So, long story short, things came to a point where I was expecting some shizzle to go down with Mr. C, (like, we're talking down south if ya catch my drift...)... and they didn't. And I was like, huh, that was almost as satisfying as if I was all pumped to eat at this new fancy restaurant with reservations for months, no one else has tried it but they're all raving about it... and then after a particulary long drive to Golden, BC, I find out this place is a shoe-shine stand that sells wraps. Sometimes.

In this particular situation, my shoe-shine stand was most definitely denied the wraps.

So then I did this new thing where I asked for clarity, for truth in the situation. And I not only asked the Universe and my 3 girlfriends (whose 'truth' is, "oh sweetie, you are SO much better than him, you SO deserve more, you don't need this loser"), but I asked Mr. C. Himself. And the answer?

"Well, yeah, I love you. Like a sister."

And you know it's that "sister"-word... it must be the sibilance... that twists that knife in the heart... you know the one i'm talking about, right?

But... here's the thing. If you don't know me... You don't know that I grew up with a single mother, with all sisters. To have a real conversation with a guy my age felt almost as possible as making my sister stop watching Grey's Anatomy for a whole season. When talking to Mr. C, I might as well have just been visiting the dentist, because most of my conversations with him involved me drooling and slurring my speech.

So ya know what? Maybe... just maybe... the Universe is kinda saying, "brothers are cool too". Because let's face it: if i'm going to choose my own brother, I'm going to damn well choose a bro who accepts his clumsy, sometimes-gluttonous, often-socially awkward sis for who she is.

And... it's gotta work both ways, too. If I expect to be loved as the sloppy emotional mess I often am, then right back atcha. And what better way to practice for this future Man of mine than on the trial run of a brother.

So, in short? Strawberry Shortcake knew her shizzle, and don't let anybody tell you otherwise.

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