Saturday, May 25, 2002

I'm not a pretty girl. I'm past my prime. I have a mustache. I slouch. My wieght hangs at my stomach-- I continually look like I'm in the fourth month of a difficult pregnancy. My skin is pallid and blotchy. My face is puffy and irregular. I walk hunched over, bouncing up and down, with peculiar cant to the left. My hair is greasy and unkempt, and not in that cool, bedhead way of Meg Ryan. My teeth are uneven and biege. I tend to smell of old crab. I don't make eye contact. My voice is reminsicent of Minnie Mouse. But still, every time I look in the mirror, I find it hard not to fall in love.

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