Every little girl has a dream. Some little girls cut their Barbie's hair and grow up wanting to work in a salon. Some girls grew up collecting countless stuffed animals in the hopes they would one day become a veterinarian.  And others still covered their little brother in band-aids and ended up becoming nurses and doctors. I too had a dream. I dreamed of growing up and having big boobs. Did you read that right? Sadly, yes. For my entire middle school career and half of my high school career I stuffed my bra. I'm talking, half the Kleenex box jammed into a bra that was three sizes too big. I even stuffed my bathing suit and hoped to God no one could tell. Synchronized swimming is not an option when you are constantly checking to make sure the gross blob of soaked tissues isn't flopping out of your bikini. I don't know why I tried so hard to be "sexy", when I clearly wasn't cut out for it. 
   I have always been envious of the hair knots that are held together with a pencil. The girl pulls the pencil out and cascades of shiny, soft ringlets fall around her face and she shakes it out and it then lays perfectly down her back. You know what happens when I do that? Nothing. I rip the pencil out while also ripping out several hundred hairs from my scalp, and then nothing. My hair stays in the knot! I have to reach up and untie the mess I made with the ol' number two and rake my fingers through, and what happens next is nothing short of macabre. Hair that has been practically dread-locked is flying everywhere. It is NOT sexy. 
   I also have what some call a "five-head"...in other words, my forehead towers over my eyebrows. My mother affectionately deems it extra space for extra brains. I used to hate it. In fact, I used to hate a lot of things about myself. (Is this a lesson on positive body image?? SIIIGHHH....) I didn't feel the subject had been beaten to death quite enough. Truly though, instead of focusing on the fact I am not the sexy girl; I don't walk into a room and Pour Some Sugar On Me by Def Leppard starts playing as I move in slow motion to the bar. I embrace what I am instead. Smart, a good mother, funny. Ok, and I'm actually pretty cute. 
  Rather than focus on what I'm not, I have started focusing on what I am and because of it, I am a much happier person. I may not have Herbal Essence commercial-worthy hair, but I also don't have to worry about losing a boob due to a particularly violent cannon ball.I have learned to laugh at myself. And you can too. ( ...Did she mean laugh at ourselves so that this ends in a way that seems to have taught a valuable lesson on loving oneself, or did she mean we can laugh at her?) Take it how you want, but I hope for both.