Pretty Girl

A "friend" (i.e. some random chick I don't know, but I "know" because we follow each other online... follow me?) of mine wrote this on her tumblr:
I wish I was one of those pretty girls. The ones who get all the guys looking at her as she walks past. The one who could get any guy she wanted. The one who wakes up looking beautiful, effortlessly. The one with the flawless skin, the pretty eyes, the gorgeous hair and the perfect figure. One of those girls who live their life with confidence. I wish I was one of those girls, but I'm not. I'm just me.

I stopped and considered.  I've never been pretty.... ok, we all know my ego is a little bigger than that, I consider myself stuffing... I mean... stunning.  I mean, I get guys who look at me when I walk past, it's just generally because I have toilet paper under my shoe, a booger hanging out my nose, or my thong poking out like a hick in a WalMart.  I definitely don't get any guy I want... but that's cause I got the one I want (ok honeypie, I paid you lip service, cough up something shiny).  I wake up flawless... flawless in my knowledge that my hair is a rat's nest, my boobs have sweated through the night and probably smell, and again, that booger thing (I'm pretty sure honeypie is now re-thinking this relationship).  I've never had perfect skin, but that's what make-up is for, I do have pretty eyes, so woohoo, I got one on the list, hair that's a little strange and a little out of the blue, and a figure that puts in the wrong time period - I was MADE to be a Renaissance gal.  In those days, a little extra was a sign of wealth.  Ho boy, in some time period, I would be RICH.  As for the confidence deal... well, um... me?  Confident?  NEVER.  Don't know what you talking about.

Really.

But I am just me.

Love me anyways?