I love my sisters, okay?
I feel like i need to get that in straight away, before i say anything else.
I love them.
But... Oh god, i can't even explain it properly... sometimes they just... sometimes they just make me feel so arrrrghhh!
Arrghh. Yep, thats probably the only word that can really describe it.
I suppose i could blame the professor too, of course. I mean, he gave us these stupid names.
Bubbles. How could you EVER be taken seriously with a name like Bubbles?
On top of the fact that i've already gained a reputation.
How great is that?
And let me get you straight on this, i don't mean i'm known as a slut or a player. No one thinks i've done the entire football team, or given birth at a school dance. No one raises their eyebrows behind my back and whispers about that time i was so wasted, or totally high. I don't have a problem family, i've never been in a real fight or anything like that.
No. My reputation is for being cute.
How great is that? I mean, what 16 year old girl doesn't wish all boys treated her like a little sister?
I know i'm blonde.
But pleeeasse! Don't make me suffer for it forever!
And i know i used to be afraid of the dark, i know i used to be obsessed with my stuffed animals, i know i wasn't as smart as Blossom or as tough as Buttercup but for god's sake!
Get the past tense: USED TO BE. As in, NOT ANY MORE.
No one seems to get that, though.
Not even my sisters.
I've tried explaining how much it annoyed me before, but it was obvious they didn't take me seriously, and after a while, i realised it was kinda pointless. So i stopped.
I think they actually want me to be the cute one, to be honest. Their images stuck with them as they got older too, but for them it was different: Blossom, somehow holding onto a string of A grades, and a place on the honour roll, yet slipping into her secondary role as hot party girl seamlessly almost every night; Buttercup holding up her image as the tough one like a trophy as she walks onto the sports field, celebrating afterwards with her crowd of jock-friends in the kind of garage partys girls like me never get invited too.
They liked their labels; if i struck out and refused to be the cute one anymore, where did that leave them?
They needed me, needed me to be cute and sweet and ditzy so that Blossom could look even more outspoken, even more sexy and sassy, even more intelligent.
They needed me to be innocent and tender-hearted so that Buttercup could look even tougher, even stronger.
I like to think they don't realise how much it hurts to be forced into a role that no longer fits.
Sometimes i feel like i'll die if i can't escape.