What. The. Fuck.
Here's the deal: I'm a girl. My inner-worth is based on my outsides. Your response to me (aka: my appearance) informs me how to feel about myself, as reinforced by practically every goddamn magazine cover on virtually every corner. (See below.)
Listen, I'm not one to complain. This is a system that has been in place forever. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it;" and I'm certainly not about to go try and change it with all this "therapy." A woman's place is in the kitchen (as long as she's not eating. Otherwise she better get her ass to some vacuuming to burn those calories, am I right?) I accept this now.
I've wasted countless years desperately insisting I am an intelligent Being - that I be recognized for my beautiful brain first and foremost - as you've most assuredly gathered by my previous blog posts.
Well, I AM DONE with that nonsense. So, here it is: my Holiday resolution to fold in as apposed to fall out. I am joining the ranks of the vapid, and assuming my rightful place amongst my gender.
Kicking it off the right way with my festively photoshopped Greeting Card. Merry fucking Christmas.
