Reminiscing

I was thinking the other day about when we first moved here, and I was reminded of something that happened here shortly after we moved that I don't think I ever wrote down.  So I thought, what better time and place than now and here, for the world to reminisce with me.  

When we moved here, I was thirteen years old and very conscious of the fact that I was in a little bit of a "fugly" stage.  I worried about what people thought of me and I tried to always look good and dress cute.  I had a favorite dress.  It fit me really well and I always felt cute when I wore it.  It was a nice floral print in dark reds, and purples.  It had a square neckline front and a square slightly lower neckline back.  Down the back there was a panel of fabric that covered my back and across it stretched three bows made of the same material that were decorative and small, placed top to bottom down my back.  It's not like the back of a bridesmaids' dress or anything, just cute and there for decoration.  Then, from the fitted waist it had a nice, slightly gathered skirt.  Anyway--I hope that I've given you a good enough picture of what this dress looked like.   It really was cute, despite my ragged description, and it fit me perfectly, and made me feel good about my appearance.

So one Sunday as we were routinely running out the door late for church, my dress, my favorite dress, got caught on the screen door handle and ripped off one of my bows.  Since it was a strictly decorative bow, and we were behind schedule, and I looked good in this dress, I continued into the car and wore the dress to church anyway.  So, the stage is set.

Now we were one of those families that always sat in the same pew at church.  Mom didn't like to sit in the back of the chapel because it was always too noisy, and we didn't like to sit in the middle of the chapel because then we had to share a pew with another family, which just wasn't fair to them, so we sat on the stage-left of the chapel, usually about 3 pews back.  Luckily we lived in a very small ward, and so even coming in late as usual didn't affect our seating.  Now, usually seated behind us were the Weinmann family.  We were good family friends and it was always nice to see them every week.  

This particular week, I was very aware of the fact that one of my bows had been torn from my favorite dress.  I worried that maybe it had left a small hole in my dress, that would be visible from the Weinmann pew.  I knew that I really should be listening more to the meeting, but I was worried and hoped that the carnage that had occurred that morning didn't leave any visible scars.

Following the sacrament meeting, Janet Weinmann leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "We (meaning she and her husband) love your bows."  After a moment of initial panic I relaxed and said, "Thank you.  There used to be three of them, but one got ripped off in the screen door this morning."  

I knew by the look on her face that I must have misunderstood what she had whispered to me.  She looked horrified.  Then I asked, "You did say that you liked my bows, right?"  To which she replied, "No, we like your moles!  We love moles, and we noticed the two on your back." (visible because of the before-mentioned lower square back line.)

In my self-conscious, fugly little thirteen year old mind, it never occurred to me that someone would like something that I considered such a cosmetic injustice.  From that moment on I decided to embrace my fugliness and love who I was, decorative moles and all.  

I can't remember what made me think of this story the other day, but what a shame it would have been, had I not remembered and been able to record it for posterity.  It's stories like this that should not go untold.