When I was 17 I had a boyfriend who thought Pamela Anderson was the most beautiful thing alive. I was not surprised, as I went through high school at the prime of Baywatch, if there ever was such a thing. Personally, I always thought she was too fake and, well booby- if you know what I mean. And I cringed at the thought of my flat-chested body being compared to such a form. When Baywatch would come on, I would try to shut it off or look away, but I had a secret fascination with getting a good look at what thousands of dollars of surgery really looked like. I grew to hate this woman who had made herself an icon for superficiality and a target for objectification and sexual fantasy.
Then one day I had a dream. In this dream we were best friends, and she was really funny and totally cool. We were rescuing a dolphin together and when we were done I couldn't help but like her. It was like, when I met the girl behind the boobs, all the jealousy and resentment went away and she was just a regular girl (though a bit misguided) like me and I loved her.
Well, you are not made of silicon boob, but you were on a billboard the first time I visited Provo and, well, it's never fun to see your new boyfriend's ex-girlfriend on a billboard. You were up there, high in the sky, blown up to a million percent, and smiling like an angel down on us as we drove by. I about called the whole thing off right there, Mrs. Cutiepants. Because it's hard enough to come in on a possible rebounding boy, but to find out that the girl is a Mrs. Cutiepants? Not fun. Devastating. Nauseating. And a little bit like the feeling when you peed yourself in kindergarten and you didn't want anyone to know so you just smiled and crossed your legs but you really want to try to figure out a way to get some dry pants soon because it's really uncomfortable. Remember that? Yeah, well I hear that happened to some people.
And it didn't help that everyone in his circle of friends who knew you would somehow think it was perfectly appropriate to tell me how "hot" you are. Why they didn't just round up a crowd, stick a big number 2 on my forehead and yell "You're ugly! Hahahahaha!" and then throw things at me and kick me in the stomach, I'm not really sure. I think there are laws against doing that kind of thing.
Anyhow, so you are pretty. So? So What?
Well, that's what my secure, adult self says. I mean, there are a lot of pretty girls in the world, and that doesn't mean they are a threat or that they are worth one bit more than me. And then I recite the Young Women Theme and bake some cookies for my Visit Teachies.
But the other, ahem...larger part of me (we'll call her Mrs. Green), well... that part is not so nice and secure. She thinks you're too pretty for your own good and she has a bone to pick with the Big Man Upstairs with his uneven distribution of the pretty gene.
And, well, it was Mrs. Green that happened to be the one who found your comment on my husband's blog yesterday. And, well, she wasn't pleased. Especially at the whole fake oblivious we're like totally friends and have been the whole time, right? vibe, which somehow excuses the fact that you are a married woman posting on your married ex-boyfriend's blog. But, hey, acting *cute* and *so friendly* and just a little bit *dumb* allows girls to get away with a lot I guess. It even allows them to get away with ADDING HIS BLOG TO YOUR BLOGROLL? Like you guys didn't have an awkward breakup where you pretty much avoided him and broke his heart? Like you didn't know that you broke his heart, and that he would have kept dating you?! Like you don't know that wives of such victims would be jealous?
Oh, Mrs. Cutiepants, you have so much to learn about this world. You see, there are Mrs. Greens everywhere. And you can't go around being so *friendly* to other women's husbands. You see, the correct way to rekindle friendships with old boyfriends who are now married is to .... well... I guess to not do it at all. And if you absolutely have to, then you might want to befriend the wife a bit first... you know, to test the waters a bit. To see how...green it is.
Well, I did a little bit of blog stalking, of course, and found that you are not only a Mrs. Cutiepants, but you also go by the name Littlemissperfect:
An elementary school teacher?
A supercute house?
A *$%#@&*-*%^@*!* mission to Africa?!!!
You're killing me.
The thing is, while I was browsing through your cyber-life, looking at your cute pictures of the kids you teach, the Africans you reached out to, and your cute short haircut, I also experienced a wave of nostalgia... that I couldn't... quite... place...
...something to do with a dolphin...
I went to marine world once in silicon valley! That's it.
Anyway, I hate you.