I sat in the musty, perfume-stained room surrounded by poorly tanned rural white girls and dresses of all kinds.

It was loud in the room as everyone was rushing to get ready for the stage.

Money Lite was her nickname.

She sat in overwhelming silence across from me, waiting for the call to the stage.

Her hair was dyed silver-blonde, long, thick. Her eyes were a shocking shade of teal. Her teeth were perfectly straight. She was a walking barbie.

Yet, there were about 30 other girls in the room just like her.

Blonde, tall, annoying.

Lipstick stained their lips and their perfectly straight, lite-brite teeth.

Their hair was plastered down with hairspray and their foundation was sprayed with unnecessary setting sprays.

Their eyes were dull from lack of sleep and their stomachs screamed in hunger.

Yet, there I was, petite, yet somehow still 50 pounds heavier than most girls in the room.

I sat in silence, not laughing, and definitely not pretending to care.

These girls were all fake, but I was real.

It was a wake up call from hell.