Hello. My name is Sara, and I am not a supermodel.
Now, that is perfectly easy for me to say. I am not upset that I will never strut the catwalk during Fashion Week wearing clothing that costs a gajillion dollars while people take endless pictures of me. I happily accept that I will not be featured on the cover of a magazine for my beauteous looks. I will never be the girl that walks in a room and every guy turns to stare, and I prefer it that way.
I am content with being ordinary looking.
Now, that being said, I do try to keep up with my appearance, and I have a perhaps slightly unhealthy love of clothes (hence the bargain fashion blog). I make an effort to at least negotiate some sort of treaty with my ungovernable hair, at least when I’m going out in public. I don’t wear eye makeup, true (every time I try I inevitably forget I have it on and rub my eyes), but I do wear some makeup. In short, I try to look at least presentable, and I am usually happy with how I look, even if I’m not the fairest of them all. I can accept that.
But does it really strain credibility for me to believe that I am fairly easy to recognize as a girl? Is it asking too much to expect people to be able to identify my gender?
Apparently for one of the employees at CiCi’s Pizza, it is.
Yesterday for lunch my dad and I went to CiCi’s, which is a pizza buffet if you’ve never eaten there. It’s already pretty cheap, but then from 2-4 they have a happy hour sort of thing where you get the buffet for $3.95. That’s all the pizza I can eat for cheaper than a gallon of gas costs in some places in Oklahoma right now. Let me stress that I really love CiCi’s and its great bargainyness. So we roll up for lunch and I’m all excited, not just about the price but also because CiCi’s has one of my favorite types of pizza ever- Alfredo Cheese Pizza. If you’ve never had any… I’m sorry. It’s glorious. But more on that later.
So anyway, everything goes normally; we pay, select our pizza, get our drinks, and then go to sit down. As we are doing so, there is a busser who goes around and cleans up the tables after people (there’s no waiters or anything), and he’s cleaning the table next to the booth I choose. So my dad and I are about to sit down, but we stop to let him push past the booth with his cart so he can go to the one behind us. He does so, and just before we go to sit down, he says, “Can I get you gentlemen anything else?”
I was honestly so shocked that I just didn’t say anything. My dad says something, and I just go to sit down in the booth, when the busser apparently seems to realize that I was not, in fact, a man. He says embarrassedly, “Oh, sorry. It’s been a long day.”
Um, I’m sorry, but it’s barely two in the afternoon. What kind of day have you had that by two in the afternoon you’re so frazzled that you mistake me for a man? Because, and I don’t think I’m being unreasonable here, YOU SHOULD PROBABLY QUIT. I didn’t think I was dressed particularly boyish either. I mean, I admit I think that I look like a boy with my hair up sometimes, but it was totally down. Guys, I’d even CURLED IT for the first time in ages. I’ve been sleeping in til like 1:30 every day and my straightener is in its death throes and nearly impossible to keep on for more than 30 seconds at a time, so I’ve just been throwing my hair in some sloppy side bun/pinned blob/hair style using lots of clips (oh, the glamorous life I lead). I mean, I’m not saying it was the BEST look I’ve ever done, but I was planning on taking a picture of the outfit to put in my fashion blog. I just… I don’t know. You be the judge:
You can tell from my not quite full, patently unreal smile that I was feeling very bitter when I got home afterwards and took this picture. I just… the silky shirt, the curly hair, and the statement necklace? I was wearing navy shorts and leopard flats. There were no clues for you, CiCi’s guy, really no clues??
Backing up a little to regain the thread of my narrative (see, that English degree was worth something), as I mentioned I absolutely loved CiCi’s Alfredo Cheese Pizza. Now, I already have a tendency to eat more at CiCi’s than I should, because IT’S A PIZZA BUFFET. But honestly, I pretty much just eat the Alfredo Cheese Pizza. Now, the nice thing about CiCi’s is that if the pizza you want isn’t out on the buffet, all you do is request it, and they will whip you up as many slices of it as you want. ACP is usually not put out on the buffet, so I almost always end up requesting it, and when I do I usually request like four or five slices, because go big or go home. I figure if I’m going to request it, I want to make sure I get enough. Well, today I was feeling especially hungry, so I requested six pieces of ACP. The poor guy gave me this sort of aborted, partial double take, but bless his heart, all he said was, “Six it is.” He somehow managed to not give me a disbelieving look because I was requesting half a pizza, which I was impressed by.
So fast forward, and I’ve gone to sit down at my booth, with the number for my table so they know where to bring all that hot, alfredo-ey goodness clutched in my hand, and The Incident happens. Five to ten minutes later, they finally bring out my 6 pieces of ACP (on two different plates). In the interim while I was waiting for my ACP pizza, I had already managed to eat a breadstick, some pasta, and another small piece of pizza. And yet, when it arrived, I ate all 6 pieces of ACP in about five minutes. Absolutely demolished them. I then got up and had a piece of dessert pizza and two cinnamon rolls.
I ask you this, Dear Readers. What else is a girl to do when someone mistakes her for a man?
My solution– eat like a man. Then go home and take mopey selfies to use when you go cry about it in your blog.
Tonight I will be attending the bachelorette party of one of my incredibly sweet friends from high school, Kady Groh. A couple of weeks ago, I bought myself a new dress that was $23, way more than I usually spend on any one clothes item. But I really wanted to look good, because it’s my first bachelorette party I’m attending as a 21 year old, and we’re going OUTTT. So tonight, I’m going to curl my hair again, and put a flower in it. I’m going to put on my pretty, beaded dress. I’ll pull on my black heeled boots, and BY GOD I’M WEARING EYE MAKEUP.
And if someone mistakes me for a man, I will not be held responsible for my actions.
Миний агаарын даралтыг ашиглан хөвөгч усан онгоцийг дүүрэн могой загас юм,
PS So this is a good one today, I decided to do Mongolian because I felt like I wanted to disappear to Mongolia because I was so embarrassed by The Incident. So on this random site I clicked on that purported to have useful Mongolian phrases, I found the one from above which apparently means, “My hovercraft is full of eels.” That makes about as much sense to me as yesterday did, so it seemed appropriately awesome.