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Show to pee and just standing there. Tell us what cowgirls do, he said. The judges waited. I peed on the floor. Leaving a puddle where my boots had been and looks of surprise on the faces of the judges, I ran to the bathroom. Suddenly I knew right where it was. No one came to help me, or maybe I insisted I was okay. I have no idea who mopped up the puddle. Alone, in the bathroom stall, I stuffed a wad of toilet paper into my stained and wet underwear, working to keep everything okay. My thighs itched and the toilet paper grated against my skin, but I was able to make it outside without being seen where I sat down on the curb, the rain having stopped, and waited for my parents to arrive. That Halloween was only the beginning of my inability to regulate my body. Within months of the costume party, I discovered hair growing under my arms, the first real sign of adolescence, at least the first sign I recognized. My mom had insisted for the past year or so that I use deodorant, and I remembered to use it on occasion. But stinking was not the same in my mind as sprouting hair. One could be easily managed. Once my mom smelled my body odor, she told me what to do. The hair thing was harder. I was too embarrassed to tell my mom, too afraid of what the hair meant. I chose instead to wear only tops with full sleeves. Living in Hawaii, going to the beach every weekend, this was not an easy solution. Most of my shirts were tank tops, and then there was my bathing suit. For close to a year, I told my mom that I just didn't like to wear sleeveless tops anymore. With great sadness, I sent my brand-new muu muu to the back of the closet. When we went to the beach I wore a t-shirt over my bathing 154 |