I am Pastel Pretty Girl, prima donna ballerina with the pink polka-dotted parasol daisy trellis woven in tresses, lover of dresses; a princess with a polished pedigree, as if I lived life with books-piled-atop-crown, Lover of frills and flounces, lace and ruffles, I am femininity, with almond nails, bubblegum lipstick, pansy perfume— far cry from mauled jeans, beat-up, black-eyed Converse, dynamic prismacolor dye. I am shallow like puddle, when I cry, because tears are always tricks from girls like this.
They tell me I am meant to be pining for a prince. I imagine one day the grocery store will sell pre-packaged, pre-sliced parts of my heart. He will add me to his cart, and the cashier will pick nickels from the gaps in his teeth. I imagine I would make a wonderful middle-aged house-bitch—WIFE, I meant, wife.
Everyday is a pursuit of perfection; I dress as if primed for photoshoots, poised and posed, a real-life porcelain doll. One lady calls, “Smile wide, Pretty Girl!” and theres a bright white flash of something like pain, but Pastel Pretty Girls don’t hurt, they just present complacent platters. They pulse and peel and pinch and pluck and purse and pat and pray and plea and perish. Plastic wasn’t ever meant to last, and expiry dates hit much too fast.
I am Pastel Pretty Girl, a paper doll plaything, mirrored silhouettes outstretched, feminine fabrication, fragment fearful for future, shallow like puddle when I cry, but they promise me “Hold your head high, things will be better
once you meet the right guy.”
Amanda Gillette is a Creative Writing, Publishing & Editing, and German major at Susquehanna University. She worked as the Assistant to the Editor-in-Chief for Flock Literary Journal. She also worked with Barrelhouse and The Santa Fe Writers Project Quarterly. She spends her days steeped in aspartame sugar substitutes and unwrapping prepackaged romance, writing poetry and reading literary criticism.