Scrappy

When I was sixteen I was sitting in the foyer of our church with a friend when an old friend of the family walked by. This old friend of the family had a little of the weird uncle vibe, when I was eight he would turn me upside down in the church hallways and crack my toes while I howled in protest of both the toe cracking and panty flashing I was giving anyone who happened by.

I tucked my feet under the foyer couch as he said hello.

He told my friend that I had always been his favorite, he said "from the moment she walked in late to her first sacrament meeting here, with her hair all over the place and her socks not matching and a big smile, I thought to myself 'I like her, she's scrappy.'".

On the list of adjectives a sixteen year old girl wants to hear about herself scrappy is like, 1,946,373rd.

But damnitall, he was right.

I think half the fight of this life is to stop wishing about what you're not and to fully embrace what you are. I can't be Grace Kelly - Grace Kelly was Grace Kelly, and even if I tried people would be able to easily differentiate between us because one of us would have taken off our pantyhose after five seconds and the other would not.

I was looking through pictures with my sisters one day, one of them held up a picture, "Awe, it looks like a cute little family and their pet martian!". A family of little dark haired kids smiling sweetly and then me, looking like a poster child for Baby Meth, in my excersaucer - it also didn't help that my head was placed strategically in front of the rabbit ears on our television. I was the martian baby.

I am the scrappy martian. *sigh*