A Word to the Thick-Souled Sistas

A debate teacher in high school once said something very wise, and it has stayed with me over the last six years: "if something upsets you, you get three minutes. Then you have to move on."

So today, I take my three minutes to complain about being a well-endowed white girl.

If you are black or latina, it is socially acceptable to have some junk in the trunk, some badonkadonk, a little bubble. Ethnic girls are simultaneously healthy and considered beautiful, god bless 'em. However, white girls are expected not only to be stick-thin (especially in Hollywood), but they are also expected to have no discernable assets, unless they are ginormous breasts of death, which look ridiculous on paperthin girls, but that's another three minutes.

After handing out promotional fliers for - get this - a parking lot all morning (because parking lots need to be promoted in Hollywood?), which included being honked at, being ogled, and being informed by a tripping homeless man that he could "make me feel so good", I escaped to my little gold Honda haven, removed my merciless slingback heels, and positively bolted from the lovely new parking building. On my way home, realizing that I still need black button-downs and black shoes for training at Zeke's Smokehouse tomorrow night, I made a quick stop at Goodwill.

Now, this particular Goodwill gets a fair amount of nice clothing, seeing as it's smack-dab in the middle of industry city. After unsuccessfully scanning the shoe racks, which never have anything close to a ten, and finding an Express button-down and a pair of yoga pants, I paused to check out the shorts selection. Shorts were, after all, on sale for $2.99 a pair and, let's be real - it's Los Angeles. You need shorts.

I pulled at least ten pairs of shorts, including such brands as Gap, JCrew, and Mossimo. I almost grabbed the pair of Apple Bottoms but didn't, which I would later learn to be a mistake. None of the shorts I tried on worked. Too big in the waist, too tight on the butt. This is the curse of the rare white girl who does dance or gymnastics or track growing up - to forever be shunned from the cute shorts community, to resign oneself to a life of spandex and cargoes. When I am queen of the world, all of this shall change. So you thick-souled sisters, hang tight; the revolution is coming.