What started this epidemic of insecurity? Maybe we were all left to cry it out in our cribs for too long, and it kept us from developing a healthy sense of entitlement. Or maybe we were held so much and hugged so close that it rendered us incapable of standing on our own two feet with any real confidence. Maybe we should blame our fathers, if for no other reason than it serves as a delightful change of pace from blaming our mothers. Or maybe we should blame the solar system—I know I haven't been the same since they decided Pluto wasn't allowed to be a planet anymore. Or maybe we should blame our gym teachers—seriously, get me the name of the sadist who came up with dodgeball.
Or maybe it doesn't matter who started it. What matters is that we don't seem to know our own worth. What matters is that we still worry the cool kids won't want to eat lunch at our table. What matters is that I have two different friends who wear makeup to bed because they're afraid to look like they actually look in front of the men they're attempting to dazzle.
So here are the choices: We could either hold a telethon to fight MI and perhaps raise enough money to get scientists started on a vaccine that will wipe the damn thing out once and for all. I mean, if we can destroy an entire layer of ozone in my lifetime, how hard can it be to get rid of our insecurities? Or we could decide to take a risk, say what we think, get up and dance, wear our crow's-feet like crinkly little badges of honor, acknowledge that it can be really, really scary to face the world head-on armed with nothing more than a strong sense of irony and a good pair of shoes—and then do it anyway.
Me? Well, I'm hoping that vaccine is right around the corner.
We Hear You!