If I had the aforementioned anorexic turtle shots of myself, they would have been posted immediately.
But alas, I didn't have them. However, I did text my mom who was able to find them within 15 minutes. (Meanwhile, not knowing I had my mom searching, my dad texted me to tell me he knew where they were. How's that for accountability?)
So here you go. Take it how you want. Either proof that people can learn how to use a flat iron and a pair of tweezers, or proof that it can get better, or, perhaps, proof that it only goes downhill after you turn 20. I'll let you decide.
Me in junior high. The "Hey Mom! A photo that actually looks like me!" shot.
The anorexic turtle. Seventh grade.
But she didn't stop there. Oh no. She went back and looked to see what else there was.
Then she found this treat which prompted her to write, "However, this year you weren't so good with the makeup..." Eighth grade. AKA: I now know why I didn't have boyfriends.
Because clearly there was a major wind- and fashion-storm that came through. It put a random, horrible "I went to Hawaii, did YOU?!" shell necklace, paired it with my "I am trying to be funky" silver earrings, and tucked away my "Best Friend" silver charm and chain, tossed my worst ESPRIT sweater over my head and pushed all my hair to one side. All.Of. It. Oh yeah, and I still hadn't figured out how to do my bangs.
My friends, I give you me, circa 1987.
Almost. Except that it is.
No, many people wouldn't post their junior high photos. But that was me.
It's all just a part of the journey. A ridiculous part, but a part all the same.
If only I still had that sweater...
