Self Esteem 101

I was reading an article recently about appropriate ages at which to talk to your kids about sex.  The article was riddled with parental angst regarding technique and timing for discussing the birds and the bees, without scarring your children for life.

I say do what my parents did. They never needed to have the talk with me, because they ensured that I was the walking "anti-sex." This was an incredibly effective tactic and they achieved this great level of success by giving me regular home perms, outfitting me with glasses Elvis Costello would be proud of and laying down railroad tracks in my mouth...twice.  Couple that with a criminal lack of breasts and a big nose and you've got a chastity recipe that few could beat.  In fact, this is the perfect breeding ground for the "life of the party" to emerge.  Hell, I wasn't going to get laid, but I sure could land a knock knock joke with perfect comedic timing.

My inner Kathy Griffin emerged on a particularly traumatizing day in middle school when swimming was part of physical education classes.  It wasn't the breaststroke that did the damage that afternoon, but the breast parade in which we all had to strip down in our naked middle school glory, and shower in front of our classmates and teacher.  Where the hell was Dr. Phil in 1988? He would have a had a field day with this abomination.  Of course, by 8th grade, most of my girlfriends had been paid a summertime visit by the boob fairy. They were eager to shove those puppies into a one piece Speedo and dive into the deep end.  I, on the other hand, still closely resembled a pre-pubescent boy.  My slim, flat figure was better fitted for sledding than swimming. I took it upon myself to make the most of this therapy-inducing striptease and streak through the locker room, naked as a jaybird, boldly displaying my lack of assets.  Mom would have been proud for sure. The anti-sex tactic had backfired and I was now the naked comedian.  

Fast forward twenty years and I still employ a wicked sense of humor to compensate for perceived flaws. Even though I eventually got rid of the perm and exchanged the glasses for contacts, the beauty queen thing never did quite kick in.  It's not that I think I'm bad looking, but I'm a dork at heart. Despite my mother's best efforts, I never really learned to dress myself and when Boy's not around I sport a hideous manrobe and glasses. I would totally rock a headgear if they weren't so 1985.

You can imagine how exhausting dating was.  The grooming alone nearly killed me. Maybelline can bite me. Crest Whitestrips too while we're at it.  And you know what? It doesn't matter  how old you are, or how far you've come since the days of a good training bra.  Just when you think you've completely shed your middle school self a good friend comes along to reassure you that..."Girl, you have no tits to speak of, but your ass is killer!"

That's why I have Dr. Phil on speed dial.