I go into a Scenester Sandwich Shop at lunch and am incredibly overwhelmed with jealousy of the attractive young girls with little fuzzy tails hanging from their scenester purses (When did this become fashionable? I'm so old). They sneer at me as we both stand beside the scenester surfboard with the menu printed on it and I begin feeling crushed beneath the weight of my own insecurities. How did they get off so easy? Why do they have such perfect skin and beautiful boobs? Straight teeth, smooth legs and hair that curls around their shoulders? What did they do for it? Why were they given all that? They don't realize what they have.
But then someone could be thinking the similar things about me. And maybe they're right. I don't realize what I've been given and what I could do with it. But I'm trying. Sort of.