Go ahead and call it conceit. Call it unwarranted. Call it naive. At this moment, I will not relinquish the feeling for any criticism anyone could make.
I will admit there are problems, aspects that prevent me from being anyone's feminine ideal in a million ways.. Cellulite on my butt and my thighs, a jiggle to my upper arm, no-longer-so-firm breasts, remnant stretch marks from adolescence, thin purple veins cris-crossing skin that's far from clear, an imperfect nose, curves whose volumes are in the wrong places, and I could go on and on, naming the defects that no Budweiser Girl or supermodel has.
But to hell with all that. I'm a sexy bitch.
And after all the teenage years of self-starvation and exercising until I was on the verge of passing out, I have earned every syllable of those words. I can't remember the last time I felt satisfied when I looked in the mirror. Maybe I lowered my standards, or maybe I just finally saw them for what they were: irrational.
Forever, I wanted to be gorgeous. I had myself convinced that if I could only be that, my life would be idyllic, my problems would be over, I'd never be afraid or depressed. Every time I blew out birthday candles, every time I saw a shooting star, I made the same wish: I wish I had a perfect body. For years. After a while, I didn't even think, I forgot that people made other wishes, that some people pause to consider what they want before they let loose on their birthday cake. I listed every flaw and how I wanted it corrected, went over the details in my mind and spent my nights dreaming, imagining what life would be once my wish came true. I just refused to think about the fact that I don't believe in magic or wishes. I knew genetics had doomed me to never be beautiful and I couldn't accept that fate.
But again, fuck it. I know what I am. I've been called beautiful and sexy by people trying to seduce me. That's likely the closest I'll come. My sister thinks i'm pretty, because she's my sister and we share the same face. When boys compliment me sincerely, they say I'm cute. Which translates, of course, to 'I wouldn't kick her out of bed.'
Just lately, my one wish changed, and I didn't even realize it at first. Instead of consoling myself with fantasies of physical perfection, I dreamed about limitless intelligence. Having finally acknowledged this trend, I gave it some thought, compared the two. If I could have one wish, what would I choose? I surprised myself, because I'd rather be smart. My body is fine the way it is. It gets me by, it keeps my head from rolling around on the floor. and I've had it for so long, been through so much with it.. I can't help but feel love when I see it in my mirror. |
