I have no grit, and thus will never be truly cool.
I attended a service in a Catholic church with my husband's two sisters, both who are grittier and cooler than I. And both of them, BOTH of them, had to wear black tights with their dresses, to hide their leg tattoos. Even though it was about a hundred degrees out and the dead of summer, they wore them because they were totally respectful that we were in a church, yet at the same time were totally bad ass- because they both have leg tattoos, hidden from God, if only for a couple hours. Later that evening we were all at dinner, and when the two of them ducked out of the restaurant for a smoke, I pointed them out to a waiter.
"Those are my sisters-in-law," I said to him proudly, watching them both smoke in their black tights and their dark hair.
While my own dishwater blond hair, tattoo-less skin, and pink lungs are probably considered OK to the average Joe, let's get real- I was missing the bad ass edge my husband's sisters naturally possessed. But how to get it?
"It's your CD collection," my husband informed me days later, when I asked him why I wasn't a bad ass. "I almost dumped you when I went through it." He's referring to our third date, when we were hanging out at my place (read: a hovel with about 11 roommates) talking (read: making out) and decided to put in a CD (I know, SO 2008, right? I didn't own an iPod).
Matt slipped through my collection in confusion. "Oh, um....Britney Spears....Gwen Stefani, Madonna....." His confusion quickly turned to horror. "Oh, my god- Mandy Moore- holy fuck...what- Jessica Simpson? Willa Ford? Who in the hell is Willa Ford?"
"Oh my god, I love her," I said, adjusting my top. "She is so cute!"
"Cute." Matthew tried say that word in conjunction with music, and almost choked. "Cute...." He continued to stare at me in despair. I could see him doing the math in his head.
MY NEW GIRLFRIEND: PROS AND CONS
PROS: Funny, ass looks good in jeans.
CONS: Has an odd obsession with Keanu Reeves, can't cook, has more credit cards than Paris Hilton, smells like rotten cotton candy, hates dogs because they 'require compassion', is unemployed, has one protruding snaggle tooth, thinks that Lindsay Lohan is 'misunderstood', sleeps until noon, annoyingly refers to her friends as 'my bitches', is 29 years old but acts 15, lacks health insurance, has a glass unicorn collection, smacks her gum, has eight unpaid parking tickets in her glove box, directs every political conversation back to her hair, calls me her 'future baby daddy' even though we've only been dating for 13 days. She also roots through my wallet when she thinks I'm not paying attention, talked me into sneaking a six-pack of beer into a club and then blamed it on me when we got caught, and keeps locks of my hair in her wallet- that she cuts off of my scalp when I'm sleeping.
"Honey?" I asked, twirling my gum around my finger. "What do you want to listen to?"
"Um..." Matt shook his head. "Er- let's just listen to the radio."
My other issue is that I wear a lot of pink. And pastels. But that's just because I'm real pale, and 'adult' colors make me look like a corpse.
"What is that color?" My sister asked, peering at me through her sunglasses at our favorite happy hour spot. We were outside on the patio drinking margaritas, and while the conversation was flowing smoothly, my wardrobe clearly was not.
"It's sherbert," I said, with a little bit of defiance.
"Jesus, why are always dressed like a baby?" My sister grumbled. "Like what, you're going to show up in a onesie? Where are you getting your clothes? Babies R' Us?"
"It's not my fault I can only wear Easter egg colors," I complained.
"I know you're on this mission to get more grit," my sister soothed, "but that mint green bow in your hair isn't helping. Maybe you need to rethink this, and just stick to what you know- like Hollywood gossip, finding the perfect shade of blond, and giggling."
She had a point. I do love to giggle.
I officially gave up becoming 'grittier' when I re-watched the Breaking Dawn trailer 17 times. Surely no one who was truly edgy would do that. I can listen to some of my husband's 'indie bands', put on dark makeup, read Edgar Allan Poe- but it's just not me. No, I'm destined for other things.
Like cutting locks of hair off my husband when he's asleep.
Quarter Life Whatever
3 years ago