Pay attention to me

You don’t have to. But I want you to. Why? Because I’m a middle child. Middle children are, by definition, attention-seeking urchins. Similar to socialites, class clowns and most Duke students. So I feel like you will relate to me. You brag about your I-banking internship or spot in line at K-Ville or how your father is the inventor of Toaster Strudel, while I publish my meaningless snarkiness. Newsflash to both of us: No one cares.

What made me such an attention seeker? There are a lot of factors, the biggest one being that I was a weird kid. But let’s face it, we all were. Intelligence is not genetic. It is a defense mechanism you develop when you realize how socially awkward you are. So none of us would be here if we weren’t at one point playing computer games incessantly (yo whaddup, Sims!), or wearing headgear, or sadly sitting in the creek with all of your clothes on after the neighborhoods kids ditched you to go scootering. Oh ... that was just me? Yeah well don’t worry, I’ve got plenty more where that came from. Here are some examples of my ability to amp up the strangeness.

Example A: Creative Body Enhancement.

We all know girls use their bodies to get attention. C’mon ladies, I’m not revealing any major secrets here. Even Susan B. Anthony at one point realized that she could raise interest by perking up the party hats. No girl is more cognizant of this than a middle-schooler. Sounds perverted, but it’s only because 12-year-old girls are all too aware of the perversion of 12-year-old boys. Stuffing your bra is a pre-teen phenomenon, and I took it to a whole new level. The average mini-chick stuffs with tissues. Some get aggressive and use socks. I chose to be neither effective nor comfortable—I used tortilla dough. Yes, tortilla dough. Sounds too absurd to be true, right? Yeah well I’m a Texan. So it’s a little more understandable. Plus, the tortilla boobs went perfectly with my Juicy sweatsuit.

Example B: Child Stardom.

This is clearly a symptom of the middle child syndrome. But I wanted to be a star. I took voice lessons from Jessica Simpson’s voice coach, as if that would put me on that fast track to showcasing my skills in the smash hit “The Dukes of Hazzard.” All it got me was a spot in the chorus of a Creed concert. I went to theatre camps and had headshots taken. And remember “Figure It Out?” That show with secret talents, slime and Summer Sanders? Well I submitted an application. I assumed my freakish disfigurement (the doctors call it double-jointedness) was Nickelodeon-worthy.... It apparently wasn’t. But, in all honesty, my audition photos were precious. A bespectacled 8 year old with her feet tucked under her ribs is pretty darn aww-enducing.

Example C: Paradoxical Tomboyishness.

Now this may not seem like a weird thing. A lot of girls go through the tomboy phase and many proudly keep it up. But I was a different variety of tomboy. I was the kind of tomboy who didn’t play sports. In fact, I was the kind of tomboy that COULDN’T and SHOULDN’T play sports because she would cause herself bodily harm. I was a tomboy for the sake of rebelling against my own gender, and I protested by doing things like avoiding dresses at all costs. My poor mother typically went along with it, but come picture day she was determined to get a dress on me. To appease me, she bought me a baseball dress. I love baseball. But not even pinstripes and jersey material could convince me. I begrudgingly donned the dress, only to tuck it into my leggings the second I was out the door. Mom was psyched when she saw the lumpy result of this fashionista’s styling.