These are hard times for a girl who wants to be beautiful. Just look at all our competition. Instagram, Facebook and Twitter are dripping with sexy women, teaming with images of women’s bodies that are sexier than mine. Barbies. It’s hard not to compare with tits and asses everywhere. I remember when my sister, one and a half years my senior, sprouted C-cups in fourth grade. I couldn’t wait for my turn to get mine. It’s been fifteen years since then and I’m still waiting.
But you wrote to me last week, and you sounded upset. And you were right to call me out. You may not have given me my sister’s perfect tits, but you gave me mine. You give me everything I need. You’ve given me the hands of an artist. You’ve given me the feet of a Hobbit. And it’s okay that you didn’t give me a dancer’s hips or Einstein’s brain because you gave me my brain, which as anyone can clearly see is a gem of its own. Just look at this website. It’s shittin.
So for all the times I bitch and moan about my tits and ass, or lack thereof, and muffintop and tummy, and breakouts, and bad haircuts that I have only myself to blame for, this is just to say I’m sorry. I was wrong. My judgment and criticism of you was misplaced. And even though you’re no Victoria’s Secret Angel, you’re fucking sexy. Whoever may have the privilege of getting their hands on you should consider themselves lucky just to be in your presence. I do. You’re perfect just as you are, and I consider myself lucky to live in you. I fucking love you.