Sometimes I'll be driving around, and see a blonde woman in her BMW, Acura, what have you, and think to myself, "I wish I was blonde and had an expensive car." That lasts for about a second before I remember who I am. I'm happy being me, because I accepted that this is who I am, which is not a blonde in an expensive car.
I was blonde once, because I was 18 and had a major lack of self-esteem. I thought I looked beautiful. In reality, I looked like a Puerto Rican porn star. I'm neither Puerto Rican, nor a porn star, so it was pretty ugly. I really believed that blondes had more fun. I was fun no matter what my hair color was, I just didn't realize it way back then.
So when I see these women, I feel bad about myself for a millisecond. A lot of work goes into being them. That's not me. I feel exhilarated every single time I get into the Jeep and the top is off. The feeling of sunshine on my face makes everything better. My hair inevitably is mussed and tangled, but I don't care.
If I had it my way, I would live on or right down the road from the beach. I would love the feeling of sand between my toes every day. I crave warm weather, sea breezes, and beaches. When it's warm outside, I also crave beer. I don't know why, but I do.
I guess I am a beach bum at heart, a girl who should have inherited millions of dollars early in life, so I could pull a Hemingway and write wherever I wanted to my heart's content.
Those girls can have their fancy cars and their manicures and such. I'll be the girl with the top off the Jeep, barefoot, hair blowing wildly in the breeze, dreaming about my future beach house stocked with good beer.