like this, a girl can only take so much. Even so, I am reminded why Natalie is my best fiend, and I immediately forgive her for her sermon earlier. I mean, who could ask foranyone more loyal than this? Of course, I know it's my turn to reciprocate now.
“Well, you know I think you're beautiful too. I can't even think how many times I would've happily traded appearances with you. It's too bad there's not some way to do that. You know like ‘Freaky Friday?”
She laughs. “Hey, I'd go for it. I could have a lot of fun walking around in your skin for a while.”
“So you say.”
“I could. Of course, I'd dress you a whole lot differently.”
“Yeah, I can just imagine. Do you think we'll ever like our own looks?”
“I hope so,” she says in this wistful voice. “And I actually believe God made me this way on purpose. So He must think I look okay In the meantime, I'd better put some Clearasil on this zit before it takes over my whole face.”
“Yeah, you could star in a sci-fi flick called The Face That Got Swallowed by the Pimple from Pluto.’”
She laughs. “Hey, I gotta go. It sounds like Micah and Krissy are having some huge fight, and my mom's still at the grocery store. I think she's really out getting a massage or pedicure or something.”
I feel bad for Nat as I hang up the phone. I know her life's not easy, and it's sweet how she takes the time to encourage me—especially when it comes to something as silly as my looks.
Then I pause to peer into the mirror to see if whatshe just told me was really true. But all I see is a rather flat-looking face without much color, a nose that seems a little broad, and dark eyes that look as if they've been slit into my skin. Okay, I guess my hair is all right. And I should be thankful that my complexion is clear, but other than that, well, I'm just not so sure. But maybe Natalies right; maybe we look the way we do for a reason.
And maybe we should all stop complaining about our appearances so much. Okay, I'm running low on sympathy right now, because the next letter really bugs me. I mean, this girl is only fifteen, and she wants a boob job. Puleeze!
Dear Jamie,
I'm fifteen, but my body looks like I'm in fifth grade. My mom keeps telling me to be patient, but I am absolutely certain that it's not going to get better. And now that school's starting, I'm totally freaking. I know that this will be one more year of getting teased in the locker room. What I want to know is-do you think it would be wrong to get breast implants? My mom really likes your column, and I think if you said it was okay, she would agree. So, how about it? Don't you think my life would be way better if my body matched my age?
Flat-Dut Frustrated
Dear Hat-Out,
Sorry, but I'm with your mom. I think you need to be patient For one thing, your body might kick into gear
and change its shape. And what if you had the implants and eventually got stuck with like a 38 triple-D chest? Or what if you get older and decide that you like your body as is? Either way I'm sure you'd be glad that you waited. Fifteen is way too young to go under the knife for purely cosmetic reasons!
Just Jamie
Well, at least these letters got me thinking about something besides life and death. Okay, so I'm having a little identity crisis of my own right now. But I think I'll take Jamie's advice and do something I love doing. like playing my violin. Yeah, that ought to do it!
Friday, September 16
I had an attack of conscience today. I was having this great heart-to-heart talk with my mom. I mean, she was saying stuff like how she's so proud of me and how I'm such a wonderful daughter and all this crud. And suddenly I just couldn't take it anymore. I was going to scream or explode or something. I guess that's what guilt can do to a person.
“I have to tell you something, Mom,” I interrupted her in midsentence.
Naturally, she got worried. “What's wrong?” “I lied to you. Well, not exactly
“Well, you know I think you're beautiful too. I can't even think how many times I would've happily traded appearances with you. It's too bad there's not some way to do that. You know like ‘Freaky Friday?”
She laughs. “Hey, I'd go for it. I could have a lot of fun walking around in your skin for a while.”
“So you say.”
“I could. Of course, I'd dress you a whole lot differently.”
“Yeah, I can just imagine. Do you think we'll ever like our own looks?”
“I hope so,” she says in this wistful voice. “And I actually believe God made me this way on purpose. So He must think I look okay In the meantime, I'd better put some Clearasil on this zit before it takes over my whole face.”
“Yeah, you could star in a sci-fi flick called The Face That Got Swallowed by the Pimple from Pluto.’”
She laughs. “Hey, I gotta go. It sounds like Micah and Krissy are having some huge fight, and my mom's still at the grocery store. I think she's really out getting a massage or pedicure or something.”
I feel bad for Nat as I hang up the phone. I know her life's not easy, and it's sweet how she takes the time to encourage me—especially when it comes to something as silly as my looks.
Then I pause to peer into the mirror to see if whatshe just told me was really true. But all I see is a rather flat-looking face without much color, a nose that seems a little broad, and dark eyes that look as if they've been slit into my skin. Okay, I guess my hair is all right. And I should be thankful that my complexion is clear, but other than that, well, I'm just not so sure. But maybe Natalies right; maybe we look the way we do for a reason.
And maybe we should all stop complaining about our appearances so much. Okay, I'm running low on sympathy right now, because the next letter really bugs me. I mean, this girl is only fifteen, and she wants a boob job. Puleeze!
Dear Jamie,
I'm fifteen, but my body looks like I'm in fifth grade. My mom keeps telling me to be patient, but I am absolutely certain that it's not going to get better. And now that school's starting, I'm totally freaking. I know that this will be one more year of getting teased in the locker room. What I want to know is-do you think it would be wrong to get breast implants? My mom really likes your column, and I think if you said it was okay, she would agree. So, how about it? Don't you think my life would be way better if my body matched my age?
Flat-Dut Frustrated
Dear Hat-Out,
Sorry, but I'm with your mom. I think you need to be patient For one thing, your body might kick into gear
and change its shape. And what if you had the implants and eventually got stuck with like a 38 triple-D chest? Or what if you get older and decide that you like your body as is? Either way I'm sure you'd be glad that you waited. Fifteen is way too young to go under the knife for purely cosmetic reasons!
Just Jamie
Well, at least these letters got me thinking about something besides life and death. Okay, so I'm having a little identity crisis of my own right now. But I think I'll take Jamie's advice and do something I love doing. like playing my violin. Yeah, that ought to do it!
Friday, September 16
I had an attack of conscience today. I was having this great heart-to-heart talk with my mom. I mean, she was saying stuff like how she's so proud of me and how I'm such a wonderful daughter and all this crud. And suddenly I just couldn't take it anymore. I was going to scream or explode or something. I guess that's what guilt can do to a person.
“I have to tell you something, Mom,” I interrupted her in midsentence.
Naturally, she got worried. “What's wrong?” “I lied to you. Well, not exactly
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