One step at a time

I’ve never really been a girls’ girl.

I don’t love to talk on the phone.

Or shop.

Or do any other “girlie” stuff.

Put me in a room full of dudes, and I feel totally comfortable.

And confident.

Guys aren’t catty.

They’re laid back.  And funny.

Unlike girls.

Put me in a room full of females, and every insecurity I have becomes immediately magnified.

She’s prettier than me.

She’s taller than me.

She’s skinnier than me.

She’s smarter than me.

I was always a super shy kid, and I always felt nervous and self-conscious and inferior in a group of girls.

The fact that most of the kids in my school were loaded and my family was not didn’t help me.

My school was pretty clicky, and I was not in the popular click.

And popular chicks in middle school are not nice.

In 5th grade, my boobs started to grow.

That’s the year I wore my first bra to school.

Well, for one day, anyway.

I made sure I wore a pretty thick shirt so that the bra was not visible, but you could still see the bump from the straps and clasp under it.

I know because a girl, a popular girl who had never previously given me the time of day, came up to me in the hallway.

“Hi Susie!” she said.

Holy shit, I thought to myself. I can’t believe Colleen is talking to me.

“Hey Guys, come say hi to Susie,” she called to the rest of her clicky crew.

I didn’t know what was going on.

I was surrounded by popular girls.

Then Colleen put her arm around me. And she started rubbing my back.

“Are you wearing a BRA?” she asked.

Loudly.

The other girls started snickering.

And pointing.

And laughing.

Now if Number 4 were in that same situation, she would probably yell,

“Hell yeah! LOOK!!!”

And pull up her shirt and flash them all.

But not me.

I wanted to die.

I ran down the hallway and into the bathroom.

And vowed never to hang out with a bunch of girls again.

Fast forward to college.

I had pretty much managed to remain true to my vow.

My freshman year I had a small group of girls on the team who I was friends with, and they had all decided they weren’t going to rush the sororities.

Just the thought of a sorority made me sweat.

But when that time of year came around, my friends changed their minds.

They were all going to rush.

Fuck.

Now what?

I caved.

If they were rushing, then so would I.

There were only 8 sororities on campus at the time. Two of them were where the pretty and popular girls were. One was known for its pretty blond girls.

The first night of rush you went to at least 3 of the sororities.

You were herded in like a bunch of cattle. The sorority girls swooped in to talk to you. And judge you. And decide if you were cool enough to be invited back.

For more judging.

We walked into the pretty, blond sorority.

Someone handed my a glass of red punch.

I was standing in a small, uncomfortable circle of girls making assinine small talk.

And I dropped my cup of juice.

It just about exploded and sprayed the clothing of every girl standing in the circle.

Visions of Colleen the bra rubbing popular chick and her snickering friends overtook me.

Again, I wanted to die, but there wasn’t really anywhere to run.

My face was as red as the juice I had just drenched everyone’s clothes with.

I walked out the door and my stint as a sorority girl was officially ended.

So, in 5th grade I wore a bra for one day.

And in college I rushed a sorority for one day.

Then there was yesterday.

I told you one of the reasons why I didn’t want to ever do an exercise class at the Y when I wrote this.

But it’s also another room full of women.

And they have cute little exercise ensembles on.

Some of them are even wearing earrings.

And then there’s me.

In my Biggest Loser-like size large t-shirt.

Feeling, once again, insecure and totally out of place.

So I took this class called Cardio Blast for the first time.

It involves a step.

You know, one of these:

It also involves a group of about 30 women who have apparently been taking this class since they were 14.

Totally synchronized.

And coordinated.

Then there was me.

Standing there.

Clueless.

The instructor was shouting out crap like “Around the World!!!” and “Stomp!!!” and all the ladies knew exactly what to do.

While I pretty much stood on the top of my step, shaking my head.

Every time I thought maybe I knew what the fuck was going on, they switched to another move.

At least I was in the back, so no one would notice.

I was kind of safe.

Until a little spin move was added in, and they all turned around.

Sixty eyes looking at me.

Standing on my step, in my big, green t-shirt, looking like a total moron.

I thought about bolting for the door.

I was only about 10 feet away from it.

But I stayed.

I’m done feeling like a douche in a room full of chicks.

I’m going back next week.

And then the week after that.

Until I get it.

Even if I spill something.

Or have a visible panty line.

Even if I fart.

I’ll show those ladies.

And I’ll show myself.

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