Winnie, Not Winifred

01 | When Life Gives You Lemons

No regerts.

At age eleven, I was mesmerized at the sight of these words tattooed along a woman's collarbone in an airport bathroom. I fell in love with the gentle, yet powerful juxtaposition of the phrase. I mused over the sweet irony of the words and the transfixing beauty of the comic sans font in which they were written on the woman's pasty skin. There, among the stalls of yellow-stained toilets and neck-pillow-clad travelers washing their hands, in a moment of unbridled epiphany, I decided to adopt the phrase as my very own personal motto.

From that day on, a life with no regerts was the only life worth living.

I was feeling the full force of this sentiment over my refusal to regret the decision to cut my own curtain bangs in a brief fit of manic self-deprecation the night prior to my first day at Contraire High School.

Any sane person would agree that a curtain of hair to hide their face behind was the ideal prescription for tripping over their own untied shoelaces on the front steps of their new school on their very first day.

No regerts.

However, as much as I may have wanted to utilize my bangs for the role their title entrusted them with, it is important to remember that I am not sane.

In fact, I am quite in-sane. Just as numerous counselors and grade school teachers have reminded me, I—Winifred Merle—am not quite like anyone else. And proving their assessment of me to be true, rather than hanging my head in shame, I held my chin up high and tactfully nodded at the wide-eyed, open-mouthed students who witnessed their new classmate collide with the concrete steps of their school on a seemingly ordinary Wednesday morning. With about the elegance of a penguin in a tutu, I brushed the concrete powder from my scraped hands and dusted off my knees through the holes of my ripped jeans as I stood up. I cleared my throat before addressing the gawking students in a pleasant manner.

"Hi, there. Good morning. My name is Winnie, not Winifred." I smiled as my gaze hopped from one student to another. I noticed a few jaws drop as I casually wiped at a trickle of blood cascading down my cheek. "I'm new here and as you may have noticed, I am clumsy. Nice to meet you."

No regerts.

With that, I continued up the stairs of my new school, burying the dull ache of embarrassment deep in my subconscious. I certainly hadn't intended to display my inherent clumsiness so soon, but on the bright side, I had at least gotten the "memorable first impression" part of being the new kid over with before even stepping foot in a classroom. I pasted a smile on my face and waltzed through the front doors, paying no mind to the trail of little drops of blood that followed me.

As a self-diagnosed optimist, I found myself always searching for a bright side, no matter the circumstance. I viewed bad days as clover patches and the positives within each one were the four-leaf clovers, right there, under my nose, but only able to be revealed if I took the time to look long enough.

It was just as my mother had recently begun saying, "When life gives you lemons, just go with it." I never did have the heart to tell her that it was not only a saying that already existed but that she was completely butchering this saying that, once again, already existed. She must have taken notes in the wall decor aisle of a HomeGoods because, in the following months, it seemed like she had an inspirational quote lined up for any situation.

I swear to God, in July, I was getting ready for the Independence Day picnic we always held at my grandma's place on the golf course; and she walked into my bedroom as I was applying a coat of mascara to my eyelashes. I had looked up at her, expectantly, only to be met with a strange look on her face like she was constipated or something.