Appropriately Dressed

No one ever snapped my bra. Which came as no surprise to me or my 40 C's. I didn't date. No one paid me compliments. My mother frequently told me I was ugly. I had to hide under oversized clothes. Baggy and resembling elephant skin. Grey, taupe, beige and any other dull color was required to hide my ugliness so that I wasn't vain and distracting. 

One day, I was riding in the passenger seat of the family car listening to my mother lecture me on how no one would ever love me. I jumped. I jumped from the moving car. The pain in my chest so excruciating that I didn’t care if I lived. I lived. No harm. No physical harm. I went and spent the night at a friends house. 

A guy friend. Guys were never much interested in me. They were more interested in the Girl Next Door. She has A cups. A cups are way better than C's or D's. You could ask my mother all about it.

The Girl Next Door with her A cups could wear color. She could wear my bright pink Shuan Cassidy t-shirt. She could go to the school dance and actually dance! The Girl Next Door didn't distract men with her ugly boobs so she didn’t have to hide them under layers of baggy elephant skin colored non-form fitting clothing. She could wear my bright pink Shaun Cassidy t-shirt and people would tell her she was pretty. I was never allowed to wear my bright pink Shaun Cassidy t-shirt unless it was hidden under a 2X long sleeved non-descript colored frock. Hidden from all who didn’t have X-ray vision.

I fell in love. We had moved and I had to go to a new school. Awkward and shy as I was. Hiding in everyway imaginable. He saw something in me despite my oversized nondescript clothing. He borrowed my pencil every day in History class. He was attracted to my number 2's. I found out he ran back to his locker everyday to throw his pencil in his locker just to have an excuse to talk to the ugly new girl. Then he died in the summer of 1987. A car accident. He went through a windshield because he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. No one else ever even saw me. No one looked at me which was the way things are supposed to be according to the powers that decide these things. 

Then my Mother rubbed it in: No one will ever love you. All my suicide attempts were failures. I was a failure. Me and my 40 C's. Useless boobs. 

The decades have passed and I never dated. I never danced. And true to my mother's excruciating words, No one ever loved me. But I lived. Unharmed. Physically. Me and my 40 C's forever ensconced in taupe, beige or grey bras. Not looking for any criticism hidden deep underneath oversized baggy clothing. I ate.

Food became my only friend. My first and final lover.

Shaun Cassidy t-shirts especially bright pink ones were for the Girl Next Door. She has the athletic look not curvy. Her size A's are more attractive and she deserved to be loved. She had a big wedding and kids and grandkids. Only us size C's deserved nothing. Hidden so that our ugliness won't be distracting. 

It doesn't make much sense why ugliness is vain and distracting but dress codes are dress codes. 

Some girls can wear pink and others are just saddled with Taupe. And some girls know the excruciating pain of not being loved and they jump from a moving car. 

It took her several days to die but that pain was non-existent compared to spike inserted in her heart that made her jump on Easter morning in the first place.

She's not mine. She is not my daughter as I am childless, never married of no value to society due to my 40 C's. Yet, I weep. I wish I'd been there for her. Adolescence is difficult.

I don't know what went wrong. I jumped from a moving car when I was a teenager, crying with the spike of the words “No one will ever love you.” firmly inserted in my chest and nothing bad happened. Not physically anyway. Not even a sprained ankle. She wasn’t so lucky. Only 14 and gone. Critical injuries. Three days. She didn’t survive.

The internet is blaring as dress code suspensions are being handed out to the C cups. You can't wear that pretty dress! It’s distracting and vain. You are seeking attention with your pretty dress.

 Lay down. In a shroud. In the morgue. Whisper the words, No one will ever love me. Then jump! Jump from the moving hearse as the pain of the knowledge of this, it is just the way things are in our society. 

The Girl Next Door wears her cheerleading skirt, and kisses boys under the bleachers while he fondles her A cups! She is acceptable, she is everything to everyone and you are just a useless boob, so get under this sweat suit provided by the principal and hide yourself. 

Grow old. Be alone. Childless. Never married. A useless boob who once a long time ago wanted to wear a bright pink Shaun Cassidy t-shirt to school and was told you were vain and distracting. How dare you try to be, just be you, a 40 C at the age of 13.

Life is different for you because you can't be as alluring or attractive as the Girl Next Door and her size A's. She can still fit in her training bra! Men love that! Women love that! That's not distracting. That's not vain. That's the Girl getting married in June. Picking flowers for the gravestones of those that jumped because No-one will ever love you for you. 

To the girls with the 40 C’s being told they are ugly, distracting and vain for wearing anything other than baggy grey sweats to school due to discretionary dress codes. At midnight, in the moonlight, take off all your clothes and dance like a dervish. 

Then when you are in the car, sitting in the passenger seat and your mother or any other adult is lecturing you that no one will ever love a vain piece of crap like you because you don't meet society’s current standards of being pretty. Close your eyes, take a deep breath as the excruciating pain hits you deep inside your chest. Don't jump. Survive! You are beautiful just the way you are.