[Wondergirl]

At the beginning of the previous decade, after askme.com kicked us off, I was looking for a new cyber home. An Ohio guy who had also gotten the boot started a Q&A site called Ask-It-Here and invited me and a bunch of others to become part of it. It became a community site more than a Q&A one, and it was there that I met Curlybenswife (our esteemed admin's wife) and AshleyMouse. Ashley was a shy Iowa teen destined to go places. She is now the vocal music director at a SD school, grades 6-12, and is engaged to be married. Here is one of her stories--she gave permission to be posted here--that I saved on my hard drive. (I also have her NaNoWriMo novel which I hope she gets published some day.)

There are many different types of women, obviously, but on Valentine's Day, we can be broken up into two categories:

Those who shave their legs, and those who do not.

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The ones who shave their legs are either the ones who have a date on this fateful night, or the ones that out of sheer cockeyed optimism are positive that everything will work out for the best and that they will be needing to slip on that cute dress for some reason tonight.

The second group looks down at their legs and realize there is no point in trying to make this day special, as you have tried so many times to do before. They let out a sigh, and step out of the tub or turn off the showerhead.

I am a member of the second group, but not by choice. It all starts with bathing in the wrong bathroom, the one without the razors in it. I say, I couldn't be in the first group if I tried. I was thwarted from the word go. But rather than going up and getting the razor from a different bathroom, we make the decision that we obviously will not be putting on that cute dress tonight, or wearing any fun flavored lip balm.

And this is why I am who I am. I am vanilla, the girl who quietly reads her book when she is supposed to, who accepts her task without a thought of making it her own. I do things that are crazy, such as wear fairy wings to school,

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or write poems for random people. But at a certain point, you are labeled "The crazy girl" and people cease to notice. And hard as you have fought it, you are once again vanilla.

Once upon a time, I was completely vanilla: sweet but unimpressive in every way.
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Today, I fear vanilla more than I fear being downcast. For the opposite of love is not hate, nor is the opposite of hate love: It is indifference. (I would cite a source, but I don't remember where I heard that, Elie Wiesel maybe?) I'm not the girl who has blonde hair and many friends, nor am I the girl with greasy hair and is mocked daily. I'm the girl who walks through the halls and nobody notices unless there is something I have intentionally done to stand out.

But there is a joy to being vanilla. It often helps when you do want to make a difference. When people are not accustomed to a certain action, that action is noticed when a vanilla does it. Statistically, vanillas are better kissers (I made that up) and vanillas have longer lasting friends (not made up).

Deep down, there is vanilla in all of us.

So on the day of chocolate and roses and kisses and love, love yourself--and love your vanilla. Compliment someone you have never noticed before, for surely they are vanilla.

And shave your legs, because you never know what your day may bring.

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