I'm starting to think I should have just named this blog "Inner monologues with Danielle". So...here goes. Let me give you a little background information on today's inner monologue.
I'm at a local restaurant with my dad. It is also of utmost importance that you know that I am wearing minimal make-up (Hello! It's like 100 degrees outside. It's just melting off anyways!) and I'm having one of those "no matter what I wear, I still feel fat and gross and ugly" days. And my partially wet hair is haphazardly enclosed in a horrid "clippie" because it's so friggin' hot out. So, needless to say, I am not feeling like a sexy goddess. So...my dad nudges me and says, "Hey, isn't that Molly?" Molly is a girl I knew from back in the day. Now, most men will not understand what I am about to say. But women definitely will. I was at that crucial point in time. You know...where you see someone you know but they haven't seen you yet. And you are thinking you can just look away or walk in the other direction as to avoid them. Not because you don't like them but because, let's face it, you just don't look cute that day. And you don't want to see anyone from your past not looking cute. Well, it's too late. Molly looks straight in my direction. Gee. Thanks Dad.
"Hey girl! It's been a long time!" Yeah, long enough for me to gain 50 pounds and for you to have two kids and still be skinner than me. Skinny biotch.
I am glancing Molly over with my eyes. Long blonde hair. Flawless complexion. She's got the whole "Whoops...I'm just wearing jeans and a t-shirt. But I just happen to look cute." Hate her.
"So, what are you doing these days?" Quick! Think of something good...something super successful. Dang it! Attempt failed. Abort mission. Retreat! Retreat! Say you have to go to the bathroom!
"Oh, not much." Really? That's my answer? You idiot.
Molly says, "Well, you just don't know what you want to do, do you?" Is this bitch reading my diary? And No. She. Didn't. "Well you don't know what it's like to get hit in the face, do you?"
After Molly gives me her number, she says, "Let's catch up soon!" Sure thing. I'll jump right on that. Right after I call my ex and beg him to tell me for the hundredth time why I wasn't good enough for him. May as well get all my torture over in one day.
Me: "K. Bye!"
Molly walks away. Really? She has the butt of a 16-year old. Still hate her.
What I don't mention are the thousands of other thoughts going on in my head during the three minutes she is talking to me while I am attempting to pay attention. Horrible thoughts like, "Wow. She is cuter than me now." "I thought she got fat? She must have lost all the weight." And the overwhelming girl thought that we all have. The one where you are straight up comparing yourself to the other person. And you realize one thing: you are clearly not the winner of the "Who's prettier?" debate going on inside your mind.
I am ashamed. Because I should totally be focused on catching up with my old friend. But my thoughts are so...immature and vain. What is wrong with me? But then it totally hits me. I'm normal. In fact, these seemingly delusional thoughts are the very thing that makes me normal. The only difference in me and other women out there is that I am actually admitting to engaging in this horrible game of comparison. And I'm admitting my thoughts out there for the world to see. A part of me would like to tell you some wonderful, inspiring story of how we should stop the madness and cease comparing ourselves to our friends and even strangers. But my guess is, even with the most inspiring of words or the wittiest of comments, we wouldn't. Because inside, we are all little girls asking ourselves, "Is she prettier than me?"
