Final Paper - Brooke Galietto English 232 Professor Edwards...

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Brooke Galietto April 26, 2011 English 232 Professor Edwards “The Weight On My Shoulders” I have every girl’s dream job. After years of hard work behind the scenes sewing, yelling, and literally ensuring that the show does in fact go on, I now have the luxury of being on the other and more comfortable side of the runway. As I zipper my black suede high heeled boots I can’t help but be grateful that I don’t have to be in the sweaty stressful chaos that lurks behind the elegant calm of the ivory curtains. I hear my husband John call, “Honey, are you all ready to go? The limo is outside waiting for us!” I breathe in a long deep breath and realize that I’m hungry. I have only eaten an apple today; but hey an apple a day keeps the doctor away, right? I reply, “Yes, ready to go!” and apply an extra dash of blush before rushing out the door. After suffering through the red carpet, John and I find the seats with our names and VIP adorned on the back. As a runway critic, our seats are placed in perfect viewing position, at the head of the runway so I can make eye contact with the model throughout her seemingly endless strut. From this viewpoint, I can see every wobble in her ankle, shake of her hand, and wrinkle of cellulite on her butt. This is my job after all, detecting and scrutinizing every last detail of a model. Finally, the moment we have all been waiting for is here. The lights are dimmed and the music is blaring. As the first delicate young girl steps onto the runway, my task begins. Her skirt awkwardly hugs her hips, her eyes are squinty…. “Don’t you think that dress is a little bit tight?” my mother asks. “Mom I really think it is perfect for the dance, it is the 8 th grade dance after all I need something special!” My Mom always wanted me to look nice and it is hard to make a chubby girl look presentable. My Mom 1
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never critiqued me just asked me suggestive questions or dropped subtle hints such as, “You aren’t full yet?” or “Maybe you have outgrown that dress.” My Mom uses a different set of eyes on me then she uses on my sister. It is as if she is judging me. Why is there always someone glaring at me. I whisper to my assistant, “Whoever dressed that model should be ashamed.” That dress is way too tight, the model isn’t even pleasant to look at. What were they thinking back there? As the model reaches the top of the runway and her eyes are mere inches away from mine I see the disappointment, fear, and exhaustion in her gaze. All of a sudden, I am drowning in empathy and I want to reach out and console this stranger. The familiarity of the emotions conveyed in
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Final Paper - Brooke Galietto English 232 Professor Edwards...

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