Girl Gone Mild

This is not how I thought I’d spend my 20s.

I always thought that once I turn 21, I’d spend my Saturday nights channeling Lindsay Lohan and make monumental mistakes that I’ll regret for the rest of my life. Instead I’m at home trying to decide what I should bake for the church’s upcoming charity food sale. (For those who care, I’m leaning towards my usual marble cake but this time, I’m making them cupcakes. I know. I’m dangerous. Hmph.) It’s not like I’m in heavy pursuit of intelligent or scholarly activities either, the most spirited discussion I’ve had in the past month was with my mother… over whether or not I have dimples.

So I found this old photo album the other day. I also found out that beauty-wise, I peaked at 14. It’s been downhill since then. I still wonder though. When did I go from Ooh La La to Oompa Loompa? Was it when I chopped off all my hair and took to wearing bandanas every time I went outside? Or was it when I stopped shopping and started wearing my dad’s shirts instead? Either way, my mid to late teens was one long spiraling descent into bad fashion choices and even worse hair. 16 year old Sheryll would’ve been Tim Gunn’s Sistine Chapel. My poor mom. She really tried to instill good fashion sense into us. She always dressed us up real cute when we were younger. (Although the jury is still out over the brown corduroy overalls and blue sweater combo I wore as a three year old.)

Yet, even through that cloud of bad denim that hovered over my teenage years, I had a vision. I honestly believed that my life would change once I turned 21. I was positively biblical about it. I figured that when I was a child, I thought as a child (and dressed as Rosie O’Donnell), but once I’d become an adult, I’d put away childish things and I’d become beautiful, I’d become smolderingly hot, I’d become Jessica Rabbit – with hair and clothes that defied the very laws of gravity.

Yeah, that didn’t happen.

Today all that’s changed is that I have longer hair and wear clothes actually designed for women. It’s not ideal but at least no one calls me ‘Sir’ anymore. And I don’t get hit on by lonely Arab women. I get the stink-eye instead which in girlworld is definitely a marked improvement.

I think one of the most difficult things we have to face as we get older, is the fact that most of the time, ‘who we want to be’ and ‘who we really are’ are usually two very different people. While some are inherently wild and crazy, perhaps some of us are just born to be mild. I’m a little older now and a little wiser too. I realize now that I have a bigger chance of ending up looking more like Roseanne Barr than Jessica Rabbit. That I’m a little more country than rock ‘n’ roll. Maybe this too, is one of my phases. Maybe it’s not. I hope I get used to it anyways. I hope I eventually learn to embrace this new me. But most of all, I hope Steppenwolf makes a song about me. Sing it with me now - Booooooooorn to be Miiiiilld.