Chapter 10

When I got home, there was a note from mom saying she was taking care of "business" at the store. Business that usually meant shopping. And *lots* of it. She took the whole process quite seriously. I remember well the one time I went along. It was a big mistake. Her rude, impatient attitude embarrassed me over and over again. The second we left the house she was in this kind of "get the hell out my way" frenzy, acting more like an addict in desperate need of a fix than anything else.

As the shopping progressed, the change in my mother went slowly from night to day. With each beep of the cash register, each signature, each detour back to the car, mom was more and more elated, as if her emotional high was somehow electronically linked to the credit card balance.

But what happened when we got home that day sickened me the most. My dad greeted us and asked her how she was doing. Nothing was said. Instead, he was immediately taken by the hand and escorted to the rear of the car, where she proceeded to open the trunk lid, exposing the vast quantities of her "booty".

"Just *look* in there," her eyes glazed over insanely as she spoke. "That's how I feel! Right there!"

I watched the living room clock nervously at it approached that magic hour, five O'clock. The hour when hopefully Jenny would show up.

With each passing minute the prospects grew dimmer like the slowly setting sun through the window shades. Had she even seen my note? If so, why wasn't there a reply?

Suddenly there was a soft knock at the door and I jumped up to answer it. As I opened the door I could feel everything bubbling up inside me with anticipation.

Wow! Was she a sight, wearing this off-the-shoulder white dress with wide straps that crossed in front, widening enough to barely encompass her breasts. Her arms crossed in front too, making those pointy shoulders poke out seductively.

Jenny looked like a sweet southern belle, an image of delightful femininity.

Sure, I knew that being feminine is much more than wearing darling dresses and lace and cute hairdos.

I knew that. But inside me there was this desire to be that beautiful flower, just like Jennifer was. To be caught up in that whimsical flight of fancy. Of being totally and completely "girl". I was in love with the thought of it and in love with love itself.

It sure looked like she had really gone well out of her way to look extra pretty that day. But for me? I could only dream of being the object of her affection, she had so many other friends. Looking at how attractive she was started stirring up all these romantic, dreamy feelings again. It was too embarrassing for me to admit to being such a tomboy. Too hard to admit being afraid of being a girl, of not knowing what it was all about. But desperately wanting someone other than mother to help me sort things out. Someone I could trust. Someone like Jenny.

Maybe, I wondered, if I dropped some subtle hints, would she figure out what I really wanted? The only question left was... how?

"Jenny? Do you think boys would... uh... think I was... well... cute?" So much for subtle hints. I never was very good about beating around the bush.

She put her hand under my chin and spoke in soft, caring voice. "Oh, Sarah! Of course I do. *I* think you're cute."

Suddenly I was pushing back tears, trying to avoid eye contact and knowing she probably felt sorry for me. What did I expect her to say anyway? NO, I THINK YOU'RE UGLY! Not that it would have been a surprise or anything.

Jenny was silent for a moment before finding the right words. "I read an article recently called 'taking charge of your looks' that talked about how each of us has our own beauty and how we can do things to *enhance* it, but we first need to have peace with ourselves an accept who we are."

It made me feel really wonderful to hear that. Even though I would never look like Jenny, it wasn't like my looks were something to be ashamed of. As far as acceptance was concerned, though, there was a ways to go.

'Taking charge'. Mmmmm. I liked the sound of that. Yet another favorite fantasy came to mind. One where an attractive girl like Jenny or better yet, a group of them would suddenly notice that I was just a bit too *boyish*, a little too tom-boyish and that *something* would have to be done about it. And right away, too! First I would hear little whispers, catching just enough of the conversation to know that they were talking about me. Then after listening more closely, the realization would come: they were deciding what they were going to *do* about it. More specifically, what they were going to do to *me*. Completely excited, yet scared, I would fantasize about the treatment I was going to get. There would be no choice. Not that they *had* to force me or anything, but they *were* very persuasive and *very* firm about things. Things that included a complete makeover, lots of romantic, feminine clothes and jewelry. Those kinds of things. Throughout the entire day I would be pampered and prettied nonstop, never having been asked my opinion on anything. Everything would be decided for me. What I should wear, what color my lipstick would be, how my hair would be cut. Everything. Talk about a fantasy that I would *never* admit to *anyone*! How embarrassing! How much *more* embarrassing to actually *do* it! But then, wasn't the complete and total *embarrassment* part of what made the whole thing so exciting in the first place?!