The short straw?

Friday, November 06, 2015

I've been told that I drew the short straw when it came to genetics. 

My body could have turned out two ways. My Austrian father is over 6ft, with a lean build, olive skin, with hazel eyes. My Mother is a New Zealander, of Scottish decent. She's blonde with blue eyes, little and curvy. I look like my father in every way. I got those deep hazel eyes, light brown hair, and olive skin that rarely breaks out (unless I'm stressed, thanks uni).

I only got four things from my Mum.
Her stroppy and stubborn personality, her tiny elf-like ears, her small upturned nose, and her figure.

As a child I was a skinny thing. Everyone thought I'd grow up to be tall, lean and willowy like my father. I ate two mince and cheese pies a day and never gained any weight. 

Then along came puberty. I stopped growing upwards, and started to grow outwards.
I grew breasts before any of the other girls at school. Nicknamed "booby castles" by the boys in my class, I became increasingly defensive and stubborn towards, well, everyone to be honest. Those peers who I had towered over in primary school surpassed me, and I became the class gnome. I became self-conscious about my figure, which I constantly compared to the tall, skinny girls in my class. It didn't help that my best friend in high school was 5'11 and a twig. I stuck out like a sore thumb, because I looked different. No one else in my class had a full blooded European father, no one else looked like a mysterious foreign princess. Of course, I realise now, it wasn't my curvy figure or nationality that kept me from functioning like a normal teenager. It was my low self-esteem and my constant need to hide my body under mountains of clothing. 

I didn't get my first kiss till I was 19. Just saying.

When I headed off for university, I decided it was entirely necessary to reinvent myself. I stopped wearing colours, and flat shoes, opting for a entirely black wardrobe and heels, to hide that busty little frame. I was especially self-conscious of my butt and thighs. Remember, this was back in 2013 when thighs gaps were in. Every woman that graced the cover of Vogue and Cosmo were stick thin (they still are of course, but I like to think it's a bit more acceptable now to have a bit of womanly jiggle). 

And so it began. I wore heels everyday, even for work. My first ever waitressing job found me tottering around a small Indian restaurant in 5" Naughty Gal platforms. Looking back I realise how ridiculous I was being, but I was younger then, and shamefully gave a shit what people thought of me. I had a few friends but moving to a different city had taken it's toll. I missed my Mum, I missed my old friends, I missed West Auckland parties and scrumpy hands. Most of all I envied those size six models that strutted purposely around uni in their designer clothes. They smoked durries at Betty's on Fridays, and drunk wine and went on dates and laughed a lot and confidently posted bikini selfies on Instagram and Facebook. 

It wasn't until my second year of uni that things began to change. I moved into a beautiful old house with two amazing girls. I started drinking and socialising and laughing more and, admittedly, smoking a lot more pot than I should have been. I changed, I grew up. And those size six models from uni, that used to confidently strut around Wellington in their Gucci shoes, began to drop off like flies.

You know how I said I broke up with my long term boyfriend a week before my last birthday? It's funny, I didn't realise how unhappy I was until I left him. We were good for a while. I smile when I think of the days we used to sit on my windowsill in that old house, and smoke pot and drink wine and talk bullshit for hours and hours. I remember listening to the Fleet Foxes, as the smoke drifted lazily through the air, and we'd watch the sun sink slowly behind the Wellington hills. We were so in love. Past tense now, of course.

Funny thing is, since we broke up I've started wearing flat shoes again. Just the other day, I bought a pair of vans and a pair of blue (yes, colours, holy shit) jeans. I now strut happily around Wellington, booty jiggling, laughing and smiling. Confident. Happy. I just don't care anymore. Maybe that's part of growing up. I've learned to love my body, and all it's curves. This morning I woke up and looked at myself in the mirror for the first time in months, like really looked. I didn't cringe, or suck anything in. I am me, and if anyone has a problem with my personality or my body they can walk on. Yeah I'm stubborn and argumentative and sassy but fuck it. I did not draw the fucking short straw, there is no short straw. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise.

Anyway, my date for tonight has just arrived. Boy, is he a cutie.
Until next time babes, stay confident xx

"Though she be but small, she is fierce" 

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