“Sure,” I say, trying to seem cheerful. “What kind of things does she like?”
“She’s pretty,” he says, scratching his neck. “So I guess she likes pretty things.”
“Oh-kay.” I look around. “We have sparkly cell phone cases?” I say, showing him a bucket full of them. “Some even say quotes and stuff.”
“Ah, cool,” he says, reaching into the bucket. He grabs two of them and then his buddy shows him something behind the front counter where we keep expensive items. He buys her a necklace and a bracelet and then two wallets from the latest line of designer handbags. It’s over five hundred dollars total, but he doesn’t even flinch when I tell him the price.
He just hands over his credit card and says, “She’s worth it.”
I smile, and this time I’m not faking it. “She’s a very lucky girl,” I say.
But he’s not even paying attention.No surprise there, I think. I’ve always been either invisible, or so visible that I get made fun of. I’d rather not be seen than be seen too much. There is no happy medium when you’re not some beautiful girl.
Once they’re gone, I relax and pray that no more guys come in today. I am perfectly fine without a reminder that no one likes me, thank you very much.
On the far end of the store, there’s this rotating stand of refrigerator magnets that all say some sassy quote. One of them catches my eye.
Proud to be a curvy woman, it says in big bold font. The word curvy is wearing a pair of sun glasses. It’s stupid, but I take it off the rack and ring it up, paying for it with the cash in my wallet. Grandma is going to love this.
I wish I could feel that way about myself. Love my skin like she loves her own. But it won’t happen. I look down at my stomach, at my flab and my stupid hips that are way too big. I’ll never love this body I’m in. And no number of cutesy magnets will ever change my mind.
