Over the next couple of weeks you’ll be getting to know some of the fantastic nominees from our 2012 Bachelorette of the Year competition. First up is multi-skilled media maven Mel Buttle, a columnist, comedienne and sometime broadcaster who makes world class spaghetti and records a hilarious podcast with Patience from The Grates. After the jump is a heartbreaking account of the first time she encountered a mean girl.
I have a voice in my head; she pipes up at parties, ‘that’s what you’re wearing?’ Cider keeps her quiet temporarily, but she comes back again as I approach the food table, ‘you realize you’re the biggest girl here don’t you?’
This is the story of how I got that voice in my head.
I’m wearing platform shoes, beige pantyhose, a knee length skirt and a pirate blouse, it was 1994 and the night of the year 7 disco. You want me to select an outfit from my casual clothes, and then dance in front of people my hormones won’t even let me look in the eye? Super idea teachers.
Upon arrival I realized that shorts and singlets were the order of the day, not the sensible outfit that mother and I had selected. This was a disaster, I just had to do my time, find a spot near the wall and like Nan’s kidney stone this too shall pass.
I started sorting out the cups, it’s been my mantra at uncomfortable parties ever since, organize something, clean something, if you can’t do that, find the parents of the person who threw the party and talk to them about Fleetwood Mac, everyone over 37 likes Fleetwood Mac.
Then it happened, Natalie approached me, ‘what are you wearing?’ she said. This was not a question; it’s only a question with someone from E! News asks you at the Golden Globes, at all other times, it’s an insult.
I stood there frozen, as her eyes ran up and down my body. ‘Oh my God Melinda, what is this?’ I was silent. ‘Do you know you look like shit?’ I said ‘Sorry what’s that?’ pretending I couldn’t hear her over the music. She repeated herself firmly and clearly, ‘You look like shit’ she stated, her eyes electric with joy waiting for me to respond. ‘Sorry I can’t hear you’ I repeated myself, keeping with the party line, holding my ear, learning forward. ‘I said you look shit!’ she was yelling now. ‘Look, Natalie I can’t hear you, it’s really loud’ I said. Hoping she would get bored and leave.
She flicked her blonde locks and waved over my friend Richard, she told him to tell me that she thought I looked like shit. Perhaps she was thinking the more dulcet sounds of a 12-year-old male voice would help cut through ‘Informer’. ‘What? What are you saying Richard?’ I held my position.
Natalie was not giving up, surely there was a boy who needed her more than ample for her age boobs jiggled near his face? No. She tried again saying each word loudly and slowly while acting them out for me.
‘You’ (pointed at me) ‘Look’ (points to her eye) ‘Like’ (flaps hands in the air, she can’t think of a motion) ‘Shit’ (points to her bum). I turn my head on the side like a dog baffled by a faked ball throw, shrug and shake my head. That’s when she left; I was off the hook! I beat her using my rat like cunning and incredible ability to pretend things aren’t happening to me when they are.
She returns with a piece of paper; she’d written on it ‘You look like shit’. Checkmate Natalie. What can you say to that? Whatever you do, don’t say, ‘well my mother thinks I look cool’. This is the wrong answer along with, ‘wow who put the cups out? What a cool person, thinking about others’ thirsts.
Words By Mel Buttle
