IT'S BECAUSE THEY DON'T LIKE YOU, COREY!

December 12, 1993

Dear Bethy,

I guess I'll  tell you about square dancin' on Friday. First Ms. Mackey made me dance with Dan. Then Mike picked me (I wonder why I was the last one picked...) Then I picked Connor. It was so-so.

Yours,

Corey

I can just see myself trying to think of complicated reasons why all the boys didn't pick me to dance with... clearly they all have crushes on me... so what could it be? Hm. It's a thinker, that's for sure. 

It's like waiting for a volcano to explode... when oh when will I finally realize the boys don't like me? What does it take for good old fashioned self doubt to kick in?

Also, I asked CONNOR to dance? CONNOR of the evil comments and horrible reputation? Is it possible.... the lady doth protest too much? Did ten year old Corey have a hidden thing for... BAD BOYS?? 

stay tuned. 

...plus i had a penchant for patchwork vests.

Not my proudest achievement. 

Only nine pages in to my journal, ten-year-old Corey had ranked her friends. Not JUST in terms of how much she likes them, but also in terms of how attractive they are. 

The friend list shifts over time to reflect the constantly changing relationships. DIFFERENT PEN COLORS correct the list. I have clearly gone to the trouble to change the list weeks, months later, so instead of staying a reflection of my friendships as they stood on October 27, 1993, they reflect the manically changing friendships of ten year old girls. 

In terms of attractiveness, I rate myself third most attractive in the entire fifth grade. This was not only generous, but delusional. With my  braces (complete with elastics in holiday appropriate colors... fabulously black and orange for Halloween) and oversized ears that were quite possibly large enough to actually weigh down my tiny head, I was probably not even in the top ten. 

But I have to respect the confidence. The journal was totally secret, and a place I was safe to own up to my insecurities. Happily, at ten, I wasn't yet objective. Presumably I felt pretty,  and that meant I must actually BE pretty. 

...where does that feeling of certainly vanish to in your twenties?