To me, THIS is not the standard for which beauty should be set:
AKA blonde, rich and vacant.
I have a daughter. I love her and do not wish for her to grow up hating her body when it doesn't measure up to what the media and other people tell her it should be. I was 23 yrs old, 100 pounds and consumed with loathing for my body. So much so that I didn't enjoy myself and wasted much of my youth worrying about it. Now that is a discgrace. I am 30 years old now, have a baby pooch where my flat abs once were, even accented with stretch marks. I am happier now than when I had the awesome body I hated. Why? I realized how trivial and unreal that stupid standard of beauty that had been pushed upon me since childhood really was. Physical perfection is not the marker of my happiness, nor should it be.
Short Flash Fiction: A Strong Woman
2 hours ago