Despite what you might think, I haven't always been the smashing success I am today. Sadly, I haven't always been this calm, cool, collected, drop-dead gorgeous and intellectually superior woman. No sirree Bob, back in the day I was just a lowly Wannabe. You know that book about the Wannabes and the Queen Bees and how much cliques and junior high girls suck? Well, I was lucky enough to fall into the Wannabe category. The one nobody wanna beez in. Get it?!
I crack myself up.
Anybee, it's 1986, so I'm 10 years old and in 5th grade. This was a stellar year for me because my mom hadn't bought me my first bra yet (which was very obvious given the starched, white blouses we had to wear with our hideous red plaid uniform skirts), but all the other girls had them. Didn't so much matter that I had nothing to put in said bra, but I was already feeling singled out. Fifth grade began the Spin the Bottle parties, UNITS outfits, the rise of Forenza and Girbaud jeans (another thing I didn't own but everyone else did, not that I'm keeping track or anything), lots of hair spray and bangs the height of the Empire State Building.
(See? I wasn't kidding. UNITS + Big Bangs = FAIL)
For my tenth birthday, a friend had given me a new purse. I used my allowance to buy a bottle of Aqua Net like all the other girls whipped out during break to tweak their coiffures. Unfortunately for me, it was not in an aerosol can, it was one of those archaic pump spray bottles. You know, the ones that are better for the environment?
We're in math class with Mrs. L. She's up at the board writing some problems for us to work on. Her arm jiggles like crazy and everyone suppresses giggles while her ample behind sways from side to side. She finishes, turns around, and you can hear her pantyhose-clad thighs rubbing against each other as she heads back to her desk. Suddenly she freezes in her tracks and opens her mouth in horror.
"What is that?" she hisses, pointing to a previously undetected puddle next to my desk. Everyone begins twisting this way and that, trying to see what she's looking at. I look down and blush furiously. I instantly realize that the entirety of my beloved bottle of Make Me A Queen Bee (aka Aqua Net) has somehow leaked through my purse and onto the classroom floor. Everyone titters because it honestly looks like I had an accident, like some brand new puppy.
I apologize to Mrs. L and race to the girls' room to get some paper towels. As my classmates' snickers turn from Mrs. L to me, I sop up the mess and put the soggy paper towels in the trash can. Next, I toss in the now-empty bottle of hair spray. I can feel my face burning, I can't look at anyone, and deep down I already know I'll never be a Queen Bee.
Looking back I can honestly say I'm glad I wasn't a Queen Bee. I'm just not built that way. And I never picked up another bottle of Aqua Net again. Hair spray is just not my friend
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