Pretty

Bahamas, Day 6

I'm finally at the point where I'm interested in society again; interested social endeavors and interested in people. But now that I'm noticing other people, I'm noticing myself and how I might look in their eyes, and I don't really like what I see. I stand in front of the mirror, finished product, my makeup done, my eyes sparkling, and I think to myself, I'm the wingman's target. My hair is short like a boy's and curls where it shouldn't; a far cry from long and sexy. It accentuates the zit on my cheek, the way my clothes don't fit quite right, the body that's squishy from lack of use - all the things my long hair used to hide. I don't feel pretty. Why would a boy hit on me when all of my imperfections are so blatant, so glaring? I catch guys looking my way, but when I look back I see their gaze just a little bit off center, their smile being returned by someone else. I used to be that girl! Despite my old insecurities and neuroses, I hardly ever paid for my own drinks. Not that I can drink now, but that's not the point. The point is that now that I'm ready to get back in the game, no one really cares. I'm the target market of the wingman.

I used to feel pretty. I want that back.