The Other Girls

We are perms and curling irons and hot rollers, Finesse and Vidal Sassoon. We are Wet n’ Wild, Lip Smackers and blue eye shadow. We are feathered hair with wide tooth combs in our back pockets and baby blue satin jackets. We are shinny gold headbands and tiny braids. We are the other girls.

We are tanning with baby oil, sunburns and freckles. We are Clearasil, Noxzema and Sun-In. We are the other girls.

We are plastic bead necklaces with matching earrings and belts. We are leather flats with cuffed jeans and socks to match our sweaters. We are leg warmers, torn sweatshirts and spandex. We are knickers, penny loafers and argyle socks. We are the other girls.

We are taffeta and tulle, hand corsages and white nylons. Garters for his visor and slow dance kissing. We are anxious, holding hands, completely clueless. We are the other girls.

We are clove cigarettes and secret Virginia Slims hidden in the glove box. California Coolers, Bartle’s & Jaymes and fake IDs. We are the other girls.

We are busy signals and dial phones with long cords that stretch to the closet. We are binder paper, Pee-Chee folders, Trapper Keepers and brown bag book covers. We are VW bugs, Honda Civics and Pintos. We are the other girls.

We are red-heads, we are brunettes, mousey brown and dishwater blond. Stubborn waves, stick straight, split ends and never right. We are the other girls.

We are laughter, we are tears, we are sadness, we are joy. Seen by some but making up all. We are the other girls. We are all the other girls.

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