Luke Warm and Lumpy

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I wish I was hot.

Let me clarify. I know I’m not one of the “ugly people” – from an early age I have been able to distinguish myself from those far less fortunate in the face department. I have a pleasant, moderately attractive face. Some of my features are actually very nice – my teeth are naturally straight, my eyes are a unique shade of green and my lips, although thin, are a perfect cupid’s bow. But somehow when they all come together they’re not particularly hot. They’re just “meh.”

I work with some incredibly good-looking women. When we go out to bars together I am always conscious of turning fewer heads than my stunning colleagues. It’s not my fault – I know how to dress for my shape, how to style my hair in a flattering way, how to apply my makeup to make the most of what I’ve got. But somehow it’s still “meh” – you know, that annoying level of hot where you know that you’re in the top 50% of people in the world in terms of attractiveness but you’re painfully aware that you’ve just scraped it in. Let’s call it luke-warm. I’ve got a luke-warm, tepid face.

There are other issues to contend with. I’ve got lady-lumps, and not all of them are in the optimal locations. There are fewer in the back and more in the front. I am, on the whole, dissatisfied with my lady-lump distribution. And then there’s the question of my excessive height. Well, it’s not so much a question, I suppose. More of a giant exclamation point. I am a giant, lumpy, tepid-faced punctuation mark.Not exactly the stuff wet dreams are made of.

I want to be the stuff of embarrassingly sticky bed sheets. I want to be the kind of hot where you need to carry around a big stick to beat off the drooling swarms of men (note – the swarms of men drooling men are figurative only and should not be perceived as potential rapists). Seriously, I want to be the kind of hot that makes a guy’s balls ache. I want to walk into a bar without self-consciously smoothing my lady-lumps and wishing I’d given my nostril hair a more thorough plucking. I want to wear stilettos and short skirts without the fear of being mistaken for a transsexual. I want to look at a photo a friend has tagged of me on Facebook without wishing I’d worn one of those full length sucking-in under garments.

Alas, my predicament is all too common. There are many others who share my plight, countless women whose sole lament is that they are not the hottest person in their group of friends. So, here’s to the luke-warm and lumpy – may we one day rise to greatness through a pandemic of some parasite that attacks and permanently scars facial skin of gorgeous women and causes them to break out in large and unevenly distributed lady-lumps. May we one day become mega-hot through the drastic lowering of the benchmark by which attractiveness is judged.

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