Of Body Image

Hi. My name is Katie, and I have a problem.

I'm flippin sick and tired of people griping about my looks!

I have lumps and bumps where bikini models don't. I have pasty white Irish skin, and my hair started going grey when I was 17. I was informed that I had cellulite on the back of my legs when I was 12. Twelve! Who even knows what cellulite is when they're 12? It was summer and I was wearing shorts. I'm pretty sure I haven't worn shorts out of the house since. I've had a tummy since I was 4. My forehead is too big and my teeth are too small.

Who flippin cares?

You know what? If I had a private chef, a personal trainer, someone batting food away from my mouth, I quit my job so I could work out 18 hrs a day, AND a professional airbrusher to airbrush every picture taken of me, yeah, I could look like a "model". (Side note, even models don't look like models. They have good teams.)

Why are we held up to such an impossible standard? And we are usually held to that standard by significant others (or in my case lately, total strangers). I've found that people who complain about looks are usually insecure about their looks. I've never put that that high a premium on looks (*cough cough* obviously). You want me to look like Jessica Alba? Seriously? Like Jessica Alba would look at you twice? Give me a break.

I'm happy with myself. Yes, there are probably jiggly parts that could use a little less jiggle, but if it weren't for people reminding me of that, I could really care less. Some day, I will find someone who loves me jiggles and all! How 'bout them apples?

My hair's been short, then long, then short, then long, then short (you get the idea) all in hopes to please others. I wear this, wear that, wear this much makeup, take the makeup off, (you guessed it) just to please others.

My body will never be perfect. My hair will never be perfect. Someone is always going to find a problem with my makeup. I am never going to be wearing the right clothes at the right time.

Who cares? (As long as I'm not frightening small children.)

Bottom line, someone out there is going to love us just exactly how we are. We're going to be someone's type. And if that never happens, we'll always be God's type.

So quit griping! I'm putting on my brown shirt and black pants and going to Wal-Mart now!

Just kidding...or am I?