Growing up I always identified with the story of the ugly duckling. I grew up never really knowing the meaning of the word “beautiful”. Until one day my mom mentioned that our relatives were comparing me to my older cousin and that while she might be prettier, I was smarter.
Since that day I’ve had a tenuous relationship with my self-image. It didn’t help either that my lovely, thick, straight hair suddenly turned coarse and curly. Or that my mom insisted I put on foundation and lipstick at the ripe old age of 11 because I needed more color in my “dead face”. She often told me that while my features were out of place now, she could tell I would grow into a great beauty someday.
The funny thing is, I never thought I wasn’t beautiful, until she pointed it out to me. I grew up dreaming one day I would be that swan. I was just an ugly duckling waiting to transform. A caterpillar whose fuzzy body hid a brilliant butterfly. A bud that would blossom into a flower. An enchanted beast whose true form was a handsome prince. I think you get the picture (and I’ve run out of analogies).
So the new Bachelor is Sean Lowe, a former insurance agent from Texas who apparently is a strong Christian. He also happens to look a lot like this guy I used to email (and admittedly am still hung up on). This means I will probably be watching the Bachelor and drinking chocolate milk laced with vodka. Anyway, back to the current bachelor. I am trying not to judge but how is a “strong Christian” going to justify dating multiple women at one time? Is God really down with making out with different women in the same day?? I’m thinking not. I really hope he does show America how it can be possible to conduct yourself honorably while dating (yes, even while dating around). But then again, the first episode shows him getting lessons on how to properly make out with someone so hey, I’m not holding my breath. *sigh* damn he’s hot though.
I was supposed to be attending a prayer meeting tonight. Instead I stayed in, ate a bowl of minestrone soup and 2 slices of buttered wheat toast and prayed my head wouldn’t explode. Now I’m waiting for the masseuse to show up and knead the crap out of this fever. I hate being sick. Especially since I live on my own. Don’t get me wrong, I love living on my own. I get to set my own rules and I don’t have to wash dishes immediately or make the bed everyday. But I also don’t get the benefit of having someone baby me while my nose is gushing a waterfall of snot or while I unwillingly hack up a lung (I know, I know I paint a pretty picture).
*sigh* tonight my loneliness raises it’s voice above the whisper I usually ignore. I guess I’ll drown it out with more soup.