Thursday, February 6, 2014


Which Spice Girl Were You in Fifth Grade?

This is not a quiz.

You were blonde and actually talked like a baby. Everyone secretly thought you were a dullard.

Boob size: Fried egg

You always had to leave sleepovers early in the morning to go to practice.

You were more flexible than Mr. Crenshaw’s rubber band ball.

“Where’d you get those tearaway track pants with your name embroidered on the upper thigh?”
“Special order.”

Boob size: Hot plate


You were a racially diverse member of the group, or you had curly hair and several pairs of patterned, boot-cut stretch pants and a silver armlet, which is a bracelet for your arm. It was from Claire’s and left a green imprint. You changed the spelling of your name from Katie to Kaytee, a very, very stupid decision.

Boob size: Softball


You laughed with your mouth wide open and told everyone what a BJ was. You also knew which bases meant what, and you have been to all of them, even fifth base, and sixth base. You had your period every day. You were the most magnificent and the most terrifying person on the planet. You had an Uncle Rudy who owned a construction business. Your house smelled like yeast.

Boob size: Magic 8-ball

Your family was rich and you got a waterproof Walkman for Christmas. Gabby always thought it was weird that we never had sleepovers at your house. Don’t you live in, like, a mansion? Your brother is hot, even today, and owns part of Facebook.

Boob size: Lipstick cap

This was a role delegated to only the most special of girls—the ones who had their wits about them, who had gotten an A++ on their extra-credit French project oh la la, who hadn’t really learned how to fix their hair, because, well there were bigger things to worry about! These girls were savvy and business-like, and loved Fig Newtons, but knew when to truly let loose and spring for an Oreo Blizzard at DQ. There is nothing to be ashamed of if this was you, especially if you didn’t get asked to Junior Prom or go to Homecoming because of dress complications and a broken ankle. You are likely a successful writer for the Internet, which is a very valid career for women with ambition and intellect! Seriously!!! Stop crying! 

Ew, Sean. Get out of here, we didn’t invite you. I’m getting mom.

You did crafts and had three full periods of art class. No one knew how you pulled that off, and Gabby complained about it once in study hall. What is with all the art class you took? Gabby started a rumor that Mr. Crenshaw asked you out. You were Wiccan.

Your teeth were bad and you had old face. Who even is that guy?

This was your mom and you treated her like she was lower than Meatloaf.

“Why isn’t there a fireman’s pole in the PT Cruiser, mooom?”

“Why won’t you buy me platform sneakers, moooom?”

“Answer me. That’s not girl power, mooooom.”

Your constant internal monologue went something like, How much longer of this unremitting hell? When will this adolescent albatross dislodge itself from my side? How far away is the farthest state school? Has Match.com been invented yet? More wine. More wine. Box of raisins. And then more wine.

All men.


Previously: Eustace at the Süper Boel

Dayna Evans is a writer. Find her on Twitter here.

13 Comments / Post A Comment


My friendship group assigned which we were when I was off school ill one day. When I returned, they told me the only role left was the old lady who dances unsteadily at the end of the Wannabe video.


Beautiful work! brilliant!@v


You forgot Nicola, the pregnant friend! You lived next door, were a year younger than everyone else, and were only included in group activities enough to not be able to complain about being excluded.


in fifth grade, i sat in a group of five girls who assigned ourselves the spice girls. the black girl with curly hair was Scary (of course), the wan whispering artistic one was baby, the jockiest one was sporty (even though she had red hair!!), the other blonde girl was ginger, and i was posh because i had brown hair. i was not terribly rich though, and my brother was in 2nd grade.


Will I ever forget the words to any Spice Girls song, as long as I live? Nope.


I think we were still pretending to be Power Rangers in fifth grade. I was Alpha 5 (the robot). Guess that makes me the manager in Spice Girls universe?

Emma Carmichael

Trying desperately to find the Spice World clip where the bus jumps over the bridge and they use a Matchbox car on a string and the internet is failing me.


Manager! (Kind of still crying about how unfair it was?) (Also no boys wanted to flirt with the pushy manager?) (Although... one huge pro here looking back was that my "costume" was somebody's mom's powersuit and red nail polish with my hair in whatever a 5th grader thought was a french twist, which is I guess business lady from the 80's classy?) Ah, life.


for some reason at our school, every "spice girl club" had all member positions filled but scary. and if you wanted to join that club, that was your only option. as a social pariah, of course that was my role and i despised it, but as an adult it's the only one i'd choose for myself.

Heather Funk

My elementary school friends started their own band, which they called "2 Much," and assigned me the role of Song Writer because I was chubby and known as "the girl who reads." But at least I got my very own turquoise composition notebook on front of which I wrote 2 Much! Songs! and carried around everywhere. It was the closest I ever came to being popular.

Angela Love@facebook

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I think we were still pretending to be Power Rangers in fifth grade. I was Alpha 5 . sulfate free shampoo Guess that makes me the manager in Spice Girls universe?

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