Middle School.

The most awkward period of everyone’s life. Marred by the burning desire to fit in and sit with the cool kids; the desire to please your parents, but be accepted by your peers. Easier said than done.

For example, take the 5th grade Christmas dance, where I decided it would be most appropriate to wear a sparkly gold sweater and velvet stirrup pants. Complete with matching purse and choker. Add to that my mom’s obsession of steam rollers, teasing, and hairspray and you got this…

I thought I was stylin’ and that all the girls would ask me for fashion advice. Looking back, I was clearly mistaken.

Then picture that awkward, skinny, towering 11 year old version of me dying for the chance to dance with a boy. ANY boy. Instead of sitting on the sidelines watching every other girl dance only joining in when the Electric Slide or Macarena played. I was so desperate, in fact, that I decided to chase a boy around the dance floor until he agreed to dance with me. Yes, you read right. I CHASED him around the dance floor, in front of teachers, classmates, parents, and the DJ.

Not my proudest moment.