Sometimes, I'll be watching tv or reading a magazine, and I'll see a model. A gorgeous female model. Naturally thin and well-built. Beautiful hair, eyes, smile. Perfect (TAN) skin. And I think to myself, "Self, you could never be her."
To many people, this would seem like an obvious statement. I'm a lot thinner than I used to be, but I can barely squeeze into my size six jeans--which isn't model thin. I'm not naturally thin, and I happen to like, you know, eating food, so being a size two or less isn't going to happen to me in this lifetime. Maybe if I'm a rotting corpse I can fit into some skinny jeans...but I don't think I'd be model material then, either. And you know, maybe even as a corpse I wouldn't be super thin, because the good Lord saw fit to give me abundant birthing hips (AND a strong desire to never physically have children--just for laughs).
Despite my aversion to becoming an anorexic, I am also well aware that I'm not pretty enough to be a model. Don't get me wrong--I'm vain. I like the way I look. I just don't look like a supermodel. My eyes have dark circles. I have adult acne. My hair has a mind of it's own, and this mind doesn't like me. I'm pale enough to be related to Frosty the Snowman. I'm no model.
Plus, I don't know how to smile for cameras. I always look like I'm afraid of the camera. Maybe I was Amish in another life. ...never mind the fact that I don't believe in predestination. ...nor do the Amish....
So anyway, I look at these models and realize that I could never be them. The reason isn't because of the way I look compared to them. The reason is because I have always kind of figured that there's something wrong with me.
I went through pretty much my entire life thinking, "There's something wrong with me." It could have been because the kids liked to gang up on me and throw dodge balls at me during recess...when we weren't even playing dodge ball. It could be because I used to collect toothpicks. It could be because I still pride myself on my insane ability to make animal noises. Idk. I just know that I didn't really snap out of this mentality until I was well into my twenties.
Then, I developed this theory that there was just something wrong with everybody. And I still think there's a lot of truth to that. I'm reminded of an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, which was my favorite show until very recently, when it was replaced by Psych. I still love you, ST:TNG, but your 80's-90's awesomeness is no comparison to a show that makes fun of 80's-90's awesomeness...with a fake psychic. I am forced to pause here and consider whether or not the fact that I like Star Trek: The Next Generation so much means that there is something wrong with me. Probably. Let's move on.
In this episode, Dr. Beverly Crusher is sucked into some kind of cool alternate universe, which is collapsing. People keep disappearing, and it's as if they never existed. She thinks she's going crazy. Eventually, the universe collapses almost completely, and she's all alone in a universe that's only a few meters wide. And she says something pretty incredible: "If there's not something wrong with me, maybe there's something wrong with the universe." (Just to put your mind at ease, she is rescued and the universe doesn't eat her.)
So after I got over the idea that there was something wrong with me, I think I figured that there was something wrong with the universe. Me? I was just another abnormal person in an abnormal world. But then, I started looking at supermodels. I started looking at people who have successful, normal lives. And I think--how does a person do normal things? How does a person live a normal life? Is it, perchance, because these are normal people? I mean, how does a supermodel become a supermodel? Does she wake up one day and say, "I'm awesome. I'm going to go be a supermodel." Me? Even if I looked like a supermodel, I have a feeling I'd never be able to say, "I'm awesome. I'm going to go be a supermodel." I'd probably say, "Man, I'm hungry. I'm going to go eat a beef steak."
So, maybe the universe is fine, and maybe there really is just something wrong with me. And that's okay. I'm not a supermodel. I'm a socially awkward superhero.
So, every morning, I get to wake up and say, "I'm going to go save the world! ...after a nutritious breakfast. ...and some makeup, because I'm vain. ...and maybe a tic tac. ...and lots of coffee. ...oh, look, a birdie. ...kumquat is a funny word."
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