The Gift of Being Ugly

I ran away crying. I looked nothing like her, at least I didn’t think so. I mean sure, we had the same glasses and a mouth full of metal, and yes that perm was a bad idea and made my hair more frizzy than curly, but I was not her. I was shaking I was so mad. My sister had the looks and the athletic ability, and all my parents could talk about was how her softball games were great and how many trophies and boyfriends she had, and all they had to say about me was that I was “the smart one.” I was not my sister, but I was also no Ugly Betty.

It started off as just a new show to watch at night with my family. It was suppose to be some mindless entertainment, but I was not suppose to be the main act. I guess I did look like her, and her journalist job in Manhattan was my dream, but the way they made the comparison had so much venom, they did not realize how it made me feel. My dad used to watch the Spanish original show, so instead of Ugly Betty, he called me Betty la Fea, with the emphasis on the F.

I hated it, and you could have blamed the tears on my emotions on my hormones like I did, or tried to put a positive spin on it. Either way, I was an overly emotional, pig-headed thirteen year old with dreams bigger than the stars and parents who gave me lead shoes and wanted for me to be practical. Practical, yuck, how I hated that word. Mother Teresa did not become a saint by being practical, and Edison would have stopped after his fiftieth try at making the light bulb if he was practical. Not once has the word practical ever been tied with the word success. So there was no reason to keep this word in my vocabulary. But I guess a girl called Ugly Betty working at a posh fashion magazine was not practical either. In fact, it was brave.

Okay, so she was just a character in a show, but to me she was real. She was courageous, loyal, positive, and yes, she was smart. I began to look forward to every episode. I watched her move up in a society obsessed with looks. I marveled at the success she had earned and wanted the same for me. I looked in the mirror everyday with the picture of her in mind. I admired the frames over my eyes and my obvious dental work while running my hands over the wild mess I called my hair. I thought of my journalism class I had just started and my semi good grades and mass knowledge of things. None of that was worth being ashamed of.

With the cancellation of the show I was devastated, but not completely. Years later, I still look in the mirror and see that girl I used to cry over. Except now, she is Editor and Chief of her yearbook. Her hair is a little straighter, she wears contacts, her mouth is less magnetic and she goes by the name Alexis. But whenever hear the term Ugly Betty directed toward me, all I can do is smile. I am not Ugly Betty, but I thank them for the compliment. Until next time...

Love Always,

The Girl in the Floral Scarf : )

The Girl in the Floral Scarf