“No, you’re prettier.”

“No seriously, you’re so much prettier!”

A single sigh cannot express the irritation growing within me, so I keep my mouth shut and roll my eyes instead. Day after day, lunch after endless lunch, my ears are forced to endure this constant, self-degrading argument–each one of my beautiful friends insisting of their ugliness, and thrusting the burden of beauty on the next victim. As gap-toothed, simple-minded kids morph into the complex masses of hormones called teenagers, arguments become more complicated. Minds evolve and expand, judgements arise, and before you know it, the “me-me-me” whining of your childhood turns into polite-but-sneaky bickers of “you-you-you.” You see, girls are tricky that way. They’ll insist how wonderful, skinny, pretty, and smart you are, but you know they’re waiting for you to scoff maybe a bit over-modestly, denying yourself of any good qualities. And if you accept their praise as true, even with a modest “thanks”, you immediately become known as the conceited one, whose name is carried from whisper to whisper.

Maybe I’m an atypical girl, but I prefer to shoot things straight, you know? None of this backhanded compliment stuff, just saying what you mean and putting it out there. So watching my friends criticize themselves everyday so everyone else could pile on the compliments....it’s getting tiresome.

“Oh my god, you guys, I am soo fat,” says Lauren, a size two at most, while she eats her salad and sips her water.

“No way, you’re so skinny! I’m the fat one,” claims Juliana, lifting her shirt a few inches to reveal a perfectly flat stomach.

“Guys, shut up, you’re both tiny,” sighs Ellie. “I have terrible acne,” she adds, a girl who has maybe one blackhead on a bad day.

And on it goes. On and on, until they reach the territory of “No you’re prettier–no you are!” and I can stand it no longer. Shoving back my chair, I stand up and yell, “No, I am!”

Under all their bewildered stares, I sit down and continue eating while they process what I’ve said. Fully aware that I’ve just broken every girl code in existence, I watch my friends’ shocked reactions in amusement. They exchange those wide-eyed, raised-eyebrow glances, all communicating the same clear message: She did not.

I grin. Oh yes I did.