Hey, you know what we haven't done for a really long time? Laughed at terribly unflattering pictures of me for sport! I know it's not Tuesday—although, honestly, when was the last time I actually posted a Bad Decision Tuesday on a Tuesday?—but what do you say we take a little trip down memory lane anyway? Come with me, if you will, to a time when boys were boys and girls were people who wore twee little barrettes on one side of their head for no reason, except perhaps that they thought they were Winona Ryder. I call this time.....the nineties.
First, let's start with a rather timely photograph, taken on Easter Sunday in 1998. Aside from the fact that I look absolutely mortified to be having my picture taken—the horror!—with my nine-year-old sister, her ten-year-old friend, and our adolescent neighbor who sure is enjoying the heck out of that apple, this is not the most attractive picture of me by any stretch.
And yet! Mere moments before this photograph was taken, Sean and I had just agreed—by telephone, naturally, since long swathes of our courtship took place long-distance—to officially become boyfriend and girlfriend. Boy, did he win the lottery or what? Now that I think about it, perhaps the phrase by telephone is the key here; surely if he'd seen that silly little hairclip above my right ear—or, indeed, my hair in general that day—I might not be sitting here fourteen years later married to him. Thank goodness Skype was still about as tangible as flying cars!
Also, brief aside, but fourteen years? FOURTEEN? Where does the time go? Well, wherever it went, I hope it took those stupid barrettes with it.
Whoops, nope. No such luck. Here's another one, stuck infectually onto the side of my head in the summer of 1998, as I sip wine in my Grown Up Beige Suit of Grown Upness at a school event called Speech Day.
I'd taken my A-levels a few weeks earlier, which may account for the debilitating ennui in my eyes—and also the heavy bags beneath them—but I'm afraid I have no excuse for the little star-shaped clip which is holding, rather ineffectually, a lock of my streaky Sun In-ed hair. Cheers, 1998 Holly! Don't worry, we'll get that forehad acne taken care of soon enough. You just go listen to some Gwen Stefani and count your bottles of body glitter.
Hey, you know what goes well with baggy skater jeans, your brother's hoodie, and a hand-painted mug of tea?
Two jauntily attired grandmothers? Well, yes, but that's not what I was going to say, although I do adore this picture for the way they're flanking me on that sofa, loving me anyway despite the fact that I'm dressed like a 13-year-old boy who just robbed a Pacific Sunwear. No, I was going to say a hairclip goes well with all of that, particularly when it seems to be serving absolutely no purpose at all. Actually, that's not true; it probably made both my grandmas laugh when I left the room.
Whatever, though. They hadn't even seen my chopsticks phase yet.