"Hmm, I'll think about that and get back to you." According to my mom, my dad's favorite color was plaid. I wonder if that's why he was Catholic.

Yet more plaid. My mom curled my hair under in a most fashionable style, and I had, at this point, perfected the lipless smile. "Upper lip? What upper lip?"

Yikes, this one's rough all around. I was in sixth grade, and had just begun experimenting with mall hair. the size of my bangs is counteracted only by the size of my glasses. I thought I had a big nose until I found glasses that didn't go down to my chin.

On the contrary, the tradeoff for no glasses is magnification of my seventh-grade acne. Nice bangs, frizzhead.

And here in eighth grade it all culminates in an orgy of bi-level mall bangs, poorly curled hair, mock turtleneck Irish knit sweater PLUS black turtleneck underneath, and the biggest fucking wire-rimmed glasses ever made. But I was cool, because they were Benetton. BENETTON I TELL YOU!

This one isn't me, it's my sister H.B., but it's just about as unfortunate as anything you're bound to see.