I Am Wrong

I’m the wrong race – not pink; the wrong gender – not male; the wrong nationality – not foreign born; the wrong age – not under 40 (ha! Not under 50).

My nose is wrong – not thin and sharp. My body type is wrong – not weighed down nor swung back by triple-D cups.

My eye color is wrong – not blue. My hair color is wrong – not blonde. My tan-hued skin is wrong – not lighter than a paper bag.

My hair is all wrong – not limp and straight, nor limp and curly. My hair is very wrong – not growing, not un-greying, not cooperating with any hair product known to science or organic plant.

My shoe size is wrong – not a size six, not since I was six. My dress size is wrong – not a size eight, not since I was eight.

My hat size is wrong – not a peanut head.

My hand size is wrong – not petite. My bone structure is wrong – not petite.

My facial features are strong – not cute. My mannerisms are sometimes straightforward, sometimes restrained – not cute.

My MIL-ing is wrong – not playing the role like DIL scripted.

My personality is wrong – not girly-ish, kittenish, Lolita-ish, or agreeable to all things male. My pheromone attraction is wrong – not reeling in the males (Shit!).

My income is wrong – not a trust fund in sight. My lottery winning luck is wrong – not a chance in hell. My earnings potential is wrong – not a promotion in sight. My career potential is wrong – go to the top of this list, do not pass GO, do not collect $200.

My attitude is all wrong – I like me anyway.