How to be happily imperfect!. Sharing the thoughts of a fellow blogger.
I am not perfect but I can’t be happier about it….ok ok I have to admit with all the modesty I am capable of, I am pretty close to being perfect…wink … and you know what, I love that little flab I have on my belly; I do, at least twice a year… I swear, the rest of the time I work to get rid of it!!!! I love that I am only 5’5, what would I do if I’d be as tall as Gisele Bündchen, or if I’d be her, posing all day in ridiculous positions, wearing tiny clothes, lips apart, eyes staring at the camera, trying to be sexy and what the hell would I do with all that money, it would give me headaches, it would!!! Nooo, I am happy to be ME!!!! I really am! And besides, every time I try to strike a pose, and believe me sometimes I do get this urge inside, I look like someone put a gun on my head forcing me to smile, have a look:
Last time when I really tried to get a diva pose, yes deep down inside I am a fashionista, more fash… than …ista though, all I could do was this:
Besides the fact that I look like a vampire sucked all my blood out, I was actually really sucked by three different species of flabby arthropods, so I ended up with half of my skin on one leg looking like Joan Rivers’s face when she tries to close her mouth and eyes in the same time, no thanks!!! Not for me!
I mean this impossible good looking models from all the glossy ( I hate this word I do) magazines, tiny waist, skinny as a rack but huge boobs most of the time…. let me tell you a secret….they are impossible because they are not REAL!!! They did not grow on Earth they grew in Photoshop, the boobs I mean… They look so remotely human that sometimes I doubt they ever shit or sweat! I have no doubts they do NOT eat!!!
I am all for good healthy looking and making efforts for it! But come on, boobs don’t grow bigger as you get skinnier; your skin doesn’t get more glowing as you grow old, you don’t get a perfect body by having more kids!!!
This standards are ridiculous and… really funny, but who needs them anyway, I don’t because in a childish exercise let me tell you this: