F**k it, I think I’ll start liking myself

These days it seems to be trendy for women to diss themselves and their bodies. Girls share their salads so that they won’t get too many calories. Friends have silly competitions: whoever loses weight the quickest might get a dubious reward called anorexia. Some of us have long lists of foods that are forbidden (yes, hand up, guilty as charged)

But okay. It’s no fun standing in front of the mirror and think about all the things that should look better. Or how much nicer life would be with a flatter stomach (the truth is that nobody would even notice the difference). So here we go:

My forehead is too big. I mean, it’s really, really big. You know what the good news are? There’s plenty of space for a well-functioning brain in there.
 

My eyes are too small. Big, dewy eyes are just a far-fetched dream. But, their colour is quite nice and unusual. And what’s even better, I CAN SEE (as long as I remember where I left my glasses!)
And the nose. Say hello to Miss Piggy-nose. But whatever. Most people think it’s cute, or at least that’s what they say.

I’m not even going to tell you what’s wrong with my breasts. But nevermind, they have brought me their fair share of pleasure in the past 10 years or so.

The tummy. Oh the tummy, What wouldn’t I do for it to look like this (nothing much it seems since I hate crunches):

At least nobody’s planning on playing chess on it. Besides, my waist is nice, and I’m the proud owner of an almost ideal waist-hip ratio (0,69 if anyone’s interested).

When I was 6 years old, I used to take long baths. And I remember telling my mum that I was unhappy (now, what does that tell you about today’s society?) because my “legs were fat". My thighs and I are not the best friends on the block, but we have made a deal: I promise not to dislike them too much, and in return they will take me wherever I need to go.