Me: 20 years ago

This is me, 20 years ago. I guess this particular BlogHop caught my eye because today is my birthday. So I'd love to play... who doesn't welcome a few extra visitors on her birthday? Anyway, I've never really minded birthdays, but I don't love them, either. I do remember when I was a kid and an older neighbor turned 10 I was jealous because she was in the double digits. That doesn't do much for me anymore: I'm not exactly itching to hit triple digits, although it does beat the alternative.
     In this picture I am preparing for the local junior miss pageant, which I ended up not entering anyway, because the competition conflicted with a ballet recital. I don't remember why I made the choice I did; I guess I decided to go with the sure thing. I do remember this day, the blue screen in the backdrop, the little black stool we perched on. I think the expression I was going for was wistful. I'm not sure why I wanted to be in a pageant, maybe it was the debutante thing -- I already owned the dress, as it were. I do know my teenage identity was a mess: I wanted to be pretty so that I could lament not being smart, and I wanted to be smart so I could worry about not being pretty. I remember desperately hoping the photographer would say something, offer me a Lana-Turner-at-Schwab's moment. He didn't, of course, and life went on.
     As for the white dress, well, see above debutante reference. In the south, you can't miss by going for the virginal. And notice the pearls? Not a touch of irony there.