Skinni-Me

Call it wishful thinking, or call it bizarre, but I have a Skinni-Me. (Get it? Mini-Me... Skinni-Me...) She's my friend Ivy's friend who used to live in San Francisco but moved away a few years ago. Once, when she did live in town, we swapped her bass guitar for my sewing machine when we were taking, respectively, bass lessons and a sewing class. That was the day I realized she was my Skinni-Me.

Not unlike myself, she's somewhat hard to get along with, has had bottle-red hair since high school, and a penchant for vintage/retro stuff. She had already painted her bedroom a lovely baby blue when I was still trying to decide which exact shade of baby blue I wanted for my room. We're both natural-born writers (lucky for her, she's used that to her immense financial and personal gain), and like dressing ourselves in a kicky unique style. Not to mention, we were born within a few days of eachother and are both the very essence of Aries.

What sets us apart is that we are polar opposites on the weight scale. She probably weighs 110 lbs max, whereas I... ok, I'm not going there but suffice to say it's quite a bit more. The weird thing is that I literally think I would look like her if I were 110 lbs. She's got a pointy ski-jump nose, rosy cheeks and green eyes. And I'm pretty sure if she gained weight, it would go to her boobs first and her face last.

Ivy got married this weekend and so I saw Skinni-Me for the first time in a few years. To tell you the truth, I kinda forgot about Skinni-Me until I saw her setting up chairs for the ceremony. I thought, "Who's that girl wearing the excellent robin's egg blue overcoat with some manner of excellent stripey dress underneath, and why does she have my exact same haircut and color??" And then it all came flooding back to me... oh my gosh, Skinni-Me!

I actually gasped when she took her coat off at the reception. That stripey dress was really cool. Sure, she gave me the "this old thing?" response when I complemented her on it, but that's typical Skinni-Me. Not only was it whimsically colorful... it was asymmetrical, and tied over one shoulder. The ties were long enough to form a pretty bow and still have a lengthy drape down the back of the dress. Except that they don't make stuff like that for fat girls, that dress could not have been any more Me.

Staring down the barrel of my Skinni-Me is different now than it was before. In the beginning, it was a severely lacking self-esteem with a dash of girl-crush attraction and several heaping spoonfuls of jealousy. She wasn't just someone who looked like a thin version of me... she was me, having taken a different and more successful path in life. She was me, fully realized.

Several years later, I still lack self esteem, especially where my body is concerned, and often kick myself for not pursuing a more fulfilling career or making time for more of my interests -- but at least I'm solidly living in my own imperfect body and mind. Moreso I'm just baffled at all the things we have in common, rather than clinging on to those similarities for dear life.

I'll probably never see Skinni-Me again, and that's ok with me. I'm going to be tragically unhip, very un-Skinni-Me, and say: You go, girl!