I went to my grandmother's house for Christmas last week, and I was inspired by a photo of myself I found on one of the tables in her living room. I actually laughed out loud when I saw it, and then I found myself feeling very confused about why, of the hundreds-if-not-thousands of photos taken of me since I was born, she would have chosen this particular photo - framed and everything - to grace the top of her lovely table. It was taken ten years ago - making this post all the more topical as we close out the decade - at my 13th birthday party, which was the first time my parents let me invite boys over to our house - a piece of information that, by all accounts, makes this photo all the more embarrassing.
1. I have those amazing straight-across-the-fohead bangs that pretty much defined my childhood until the age of 15 or so.
2. I am also rocking the butt cut. You know, parted straight down the middle. No shame.
3. That appears to be a beaded choker.
4. Yes, that is cake with a screenprint of the Backstreet Boys on it. I. know. I remember that screenprinting on birthday cakes was, like, a big deal in middle school. You just took whatever photo you wanted on your cake to the bakery in the grocery store, and they somehow created an edible version of it.
Wait. I was getting ready to write a snarky comment about how ridiculous a screenprinted birthday cake is, but I have changed my mind. This is awesome. If I could have a screenprint of Lady Gaga on my next birthday cake, I wouldn't even think twice about it. Then I would have them sprinkle it with edible glitter before topping it with an edible hair bow, and I would take a photo of myself holding it the same way I held the BSB cake when I was 13, and I would do a side-by-side comparison of little baby Meghan and somewhat-more-grownup Meghan.
It's shocking how little things change, even when they change a lot. For good measure:
At least I wasn't alone in my choice of the butt cut. Nick rocked it for quite a long time. But I didn't care about him because I was in love with Brian, who never had the butt cut. Conclusion: My taste in men > my taste in haircuts.
This is not necessarily still true.
READ: HARLEM'S FOOD SCENE IN THE JOURNAL
1 day ago