Why don’t we paint a pretty picture

I really need to stop skipping months on here.  It’s so difficult when I don’t get home till 9 pm from work/gym.

Note to self: get better about blogging on a stationary bike (great post-workout cool down by the way, especially if you have hip problems like me).

Enough about my physical issues though.  I want to paint a pretty story for you.

I have been 5’10 since I was 13.  Yes you heard that correctly, THIRTEEN.  In high school, in the early years especially, you are painted as a freak.  You are called giraffe, jolly green giant, talk drink of water, and you are asked once a week why you won’t play basketball.  Boys are too self conscious to even entertain the thought that you could be attractive, and you are thus seen as a leper for the following four years.  That was my life in high school.

So on to college.  In college, the first boy that thought I was pretty seemed like a miracle to me.  Was I actually attractive all this time?!  My friends used to say that but I used to spend nights alone crying because it couldn’t be true. I finally met boys, and I learned to not lean over to be shorter in pictures, and that yes it was okay to wear heels and be 6’1 and introduce myself as Giselle.

That just made it sound easy.  Trust me, it wasn’t.  Everyone has body issues, EVERYONE (just the other day I decided I wanted a nose job again).  But it’s incredibly hard when your issue is with everything that you are physically.  Yeah, maybe I was skinny, but I still TOWERED over all of my other female friends.  I walked around with my shoulders hunched for years.

Finally in college, I dated someone who was 5’8.  This was unheard of for me.  And guess what?  He LOVED the fact that I was taller than him.  He finally gave me the confidence to wear heels whenever I wanted.  I didn’t need to feel like crying anymore because all of my friends looked cute and I had to wear flats.  In reality, he was a terrible person in 16 other ways, but the one thing he gave me was the ability to finally just live in my own skin.

These days, I’ve dated people are 5’8 and I’ve dated people who are 6’5.  Most have turned out to be shitty people, but all truly liked me, my height included.  I am lucky, I love myself, and while my body hates all the pizza and vodka I consume on the weekend, I love it too.

So HOW MUCH DID I WANT TO HURT SOMEONE, when I’m standing amongst a group of friends, and I hear a guy, a friend of a friend, telling someone else that I was disgusting.  Yes, I lost a bet and was drinking a Long Island, but that was not the reason.  This tall, semi-good looking man, was saying I was completely unattractive because I was tall.  He asked his friend why on earth would I wear heels, knowing that no man would ever be attracted to me.

I did not punch him in the face.

I realized that I was six worlds above him, but more so, how disappointing it is that men still think they have the right to “deem” you attractive or not.  Like they get to decide your self esteem.  They think that because they don’t think I’m beautiful, no one else, including myself, can think I am either.

Well guess what, I THINK I’M A SOLID 9.

I’m successful, intelligent, friendly, somewhat funny, sarcastic, and attractive.  GET THE FUCK OVER YOURSELF.

Thanks….really needed to get that out.  Also, I have a twitter…@thedcbrunette.

 

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