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Feb 22, 2023

Growing up I was the smart one. Eventually, people started calling me pretty. But I'll never forget that one guy. The first one to tell me I was pretty... Pretty enough to fuck but not to date. That changes a girl.

After that, I worked at just being pretty. I tried hanging out with the pretty girls and when I realized I was only there to be their "fat friend", I worked harder at being pretty. But pretty makes you petty, and I didn't like that either.

So, I found if I worked on the things that made me smile, I didn't really care what the rest of the world saw when they looked at me. I know by conventional standards, I currently rate pretty decent, thanks in part to not looking my age most of the time (there are moments I do though) because of good genetics, solid skincare, and no kids. It doesn't hurt that I am still vain to a degree and work to keep myself somewhat in shape and wrinkle-free. But even still, I don't take compliments on my looks well. Sure, I say thanks and all, the validation they offer let's me know I'm still conventionally pretty, but they also fall on deaf ears. Because I finally learned my real beauty isn't what's on the outside. It's in my humor, my intelligence, my wonder for life, my compassion, and all those little things that make me me. And if anyone can't be bothered to get to know the real me, then why do I care if they think I'm pretty or ugly?

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