am was a giant snarled-haired mess of a nerd. Tis sad, but true. (Thank you Ursula for that line.)
Growing up, I was a bit on the portly side. I wore the same shirt day in and day out. And I somehow missed the memo that brushing my hair was of any importance. (THIS IS NOT THE SECRET). In the fifth grade Donnie Sullivan . . . oh sweet Donnie Sullivan, sigh . . . he talked to me at recess. My heart nearly exploded out of my chest as I watched him approach. But that sensation was short lived.
Donnie said, "Hey Erin, don't you know how to use a brush?"
Uh, apparently not.
The kids laughed. I joked back. Faked a smile. But inside, I died a little.
And then I vowed to start brushing my hair. (True story, but NOT the secret.)
The thing of it is, despite my chub and rat's nest living atop my head, I had lots of friends because I went out of my way to be friendly and as funny. But I never had "the one." The one friend that would be my BFF and share a Best Friend Necklace. This plagued me. I prayed at night that the Lord would deliver me a BFF, one willing to split the heart necklace that marked us as Best Friends Forever.
Friday, October 19, 2012