School Lunches and Shaved (or Unshaved) Legs @ Tuesday, May. 25, 2004

I�m reading Bird by Bird by Anne Lamot � slowly reading it, that is. In the few chapters that I got to over lunch today she suggested writing about school lunches as a way to get yourself rolling.

I don�t have good memories about school lunches. I was one of those girls who packed her lunch (except for Pizza Day, which I think was Thursday. We had Sbarro�s pizza at the zoo on Saturday and the puddles of grease reminded me of lunch room pizza�why were we so excited by a triangular slab of lukewarm grease?). I never understood why everyone looked down on those who brown bagged their lunch. At least once we got to junior high/high school. I think it was okay in elementary school � at least until third grade or so � because there were Lunch Boxes Mine was in the old fashioned lunch pail shape, light blue with Snoopy snoozing on his dog house�I think I had a Strawberry Shortcake lunch box, as well.

Now I have and Osbournes box�I still carry it to work once in awhile.

After all, whatever I had in my brown bag was always ten times better than whatever my friends had bought in the lunch line.

The good memories I have of lunch were when I'd sit with Scott and Bill and I don't think I really started to hang out with them until high school. They were odd - outsiders sort of - but funny. Scott told this ridiculous joke that I wish I could remember about an Elvis impersonator and some animal that had had a lobotomy walking into a bar. It had no punch line but I laughed for hours. They liked to go through my purse, too, for some reason a la Breakfast Club. They knew not to go through the small pink purse because it only appeared three or four days out of the month. Scott and I went out once in college and a friend of mine who swore up and down that she was psychic claimed that she would Be Someone some day and that I should keep an eye on him. She also told me that I would marry someone very important (yes, I see the connection there). I'm still waiting for that important person to show up.

Once we hit junior high, lunch became such drama. I�m a pack rat and have almost all the notes I received throughout junior high and high school � stored in a big green trunk that I use as a coffee table. These notes are peppered with statements such as, �I�m not sitting with you at lunch today because you sat with Brandi yesterday� and, �You didn�t sit with me at lunch today � are you mad at me?� It�s almost like we pulled a calendar out at the beginning of the month to schedule which girl was going to be ostracized on what day for no particular reason.

Junior high was hard enough � the fitting in, going through puberty � did we really need to make it worse by giving our friends a hard time for beign a little odd or for wearing clothes that wasn�t weren�t made by a particular designer? I had a denim jacket � still have it hanging in my closet, actually � that Beth G. continually gave me hell for wearing because it Wasn�t Designer. She and I became best friends in high school but I still remembered those taunts. She used to tease me all the time because I didn�t shave my legs, either. I was � what � eleven or twelve years old? Why start that early? It�s a chore that no one should look forward to. My mom didn�t want me to shave my legs for that very reason (she doesn�t shave hers at all and you can�t even tell). I remember the last straw, the comment that made me finally break down and give in�something about the fact that I only shaved my legs once in a blue moon. I came in the front door, in tears, grabbed my mom�s razor and declared that I had to shave my legs.

And I�ve had to do it ever since. Granted, not as often as I did maybe five or six years ago because I just don't care so much anymore (I never neglect the underarms, though), but I still do it. I breathed a sigh of relief when Big said he didn�t care if I shaved or not�it was my body. But I continued to do it. You know, taboo and all that.

School sucked. I�d never go back and think those people that say they�re the best years of your life�those people - the cheerleaders, football players and student government members - they're mad. And obviously lead very sad adult lives.