Some girls just are. You know. Pretty.
There’s no question. They know it. Everyone else knows it. They have something special that others don’t have, even when the others try really hard to fix themselves up, spending a lot of time on how they look. And whatever that “something” is that they have, it clearly sets them apart, causing them to stand out without even trying.
They stand out. They get preferential treatment.
Men notice them. Women notice them too.
They’re the right height. Their legs are the perfect length and shape. Their hair blows exactly as it should in the gentle breeze. Their face is the right shape, their eyes are the right size and best color, their nose is cute and perky, their lips are shapely and luscious, their chin is short and adorable. They have the right curves in the right places, flat stomachs, firm, ample beasts and they are the perfect weight. Their feet are the right size and their ankles are small and fragile. They dress right, move right, look right, act right, laugh right and talk right.
They are exactly right.
They certainly don’t have any wrinkles. Or obvious flaws. They are perpetually young and gorgeous.
Things are easier when you’re pretty. You hold the cards. The winning hand. You can wrap people around your little finger. Just because of the way you look.
People fall at your feet. They get in line to worship you. To elevate you. To win your favor. They adore you.
Not that I know from personal experience. Just from observation.
I have never been pretty. Never. I have never held the right cards. I have never had a winning hand. I have never received favor.
My mother used to tell me I had a nice face. She would say, “If only you would lose weight, you would be so pretty.” She said this with great longing; with disappointment dripping from her voice. I let her down. By not being pretty. I humiliated her because I was plain. Or worse. And fat.
I tried hard to lose the weight. Sometimes, I was successful. Fell in the “normal” range. But for a lot of my life, I was really overweight. Obese. Unacceptable. Rejected. The opposite of pretty. The opposite of okay.
Things never came together for me. Not in the looks department. Not in the life department. Life has always been a frightening struggle for me. Nothing good has come my way. No matter how hard I worked for it.
There has always been something “off” about me. And off-putting. Something disgusting. Something that keeps me on the outside. Something that keeps me from being accepted. Something that makes me unworthy. And unwanted.
I’ve never been good enough. Never been pretty enough. Never been cool enough. Never been…you name it, I’ve never been it. Life has not gone my way. I am, and have always been, unacceptable.
Not pretty. Not even close to pretty. I have never met anyone’s expectations, no matter how hard I have tried.
Some people don’t have to try. They just are. And they win without even working at it because they simply are. Pretty. Adorable. Popular. Cool. Beautiful.
Then there are the people like me. People who will never be acceptable, no matter how hard we work at it. I’ll never be normal. Wanted. Desired.
“Pretty is as pretty does” is a load of shit. Pretty is. It’s an outward thing. It has nothing to do with what you do. Who you are. You can do ugly things when you are pretty. You can get away with disgusting things when you are gorgeous…on the outside. The outside seems to make all the difference in the world.
The inside? Doesn’t even factor in.
Doesn’t. Factor. In.
Nothing matters. Not effort. Not intelligence. Not ability. Nothing matters unless. Unless you’re pretty. Then everything matters.
Thin makes you acceptable. Pretty makes you worthy.
And I’m not pretty. Not thin enough; not at the moment. So I’m not worthy.
I’ll never be pretty. I’ll never be acceptable. I try hard. I’ll keep trying hard. But I’ll never win. It’s crystal clear. I’ll never overcome. I’ll never be…enough. Not the way I am.
No matter how much effort I give it. I am repulsive. And the repulsive are judged harshly. The repulsive are rejected. Overlooked.
People like me live in the shadows. Longing to be what we can never be. Always longing. Longing to be pretty. Longing to be accepted. Longing to be wanted. Longing to be loved. Longing to be all the things that will always and forever remain just…out…of…reach…