Thursday, 5 April 2012

Have you ever wondered if there was more to life, other than being really, really, ridiculously good looking?

10/10 women agree that I'm beautiful, if not a Goddess.
I've just finished reading Samantha Brick's article; "Why women hate me for being pretty" (see link). I can totally empathise with her, it's just so hard being really, really good looking. 
She details how men frequently order her bottles of Champagne or wine, *yawn* how cliche - aren't we all? Hop off your high-horse Samantha, I was once lucky enough when out clubbing with my frankly mediocre-looking counterparts, to be given half a plastic cup of Vodka and Redbull - jealous? I thought so. Big Whoop, someone once presented you with a 'beautiful bunch of flowers' in London's Portobello Road Market! I get accosted on a weekly basis by men practically imploring me to buy their Big Issues, blatantly because of my irresistible appearance in my provocative Primark jumper and flattering, slightly-too-long sixth form trousers. So, okay, I'm no Megan Fox, but that's because I'm frankly far more attractive. The only reason I haven't been approached by modelling companies is because I'd prove so devastatingly sexy that I'd distract potential customers from any products I'd be advertising.

I find whenever I'm in group photos or singing at concerts I'm often begged to stand right at the front. I'm told it's because I'm "too short" to be seen, but I know that really, it's because no one wants my astounding looks to be wasted, but are too polite to admit that to all my ugly or at best, mildly hideous, friends. Teachers at school regularly victimise me for wearing 'inappropriate' length skirts to school, under the pretense that they 'don't conform to school regulations' - bollocks. It's purely because they are old, ugly, and jealous of my disproportionately fat arse and short legs. Well, that, and because they know that the coded doors at school simply aren't enough to prevent men breaking in and falling at my feet, desperate to tell me how incredible I am.

It took a lot to work up such a radiant pink complexion .
Night clubs are often dark and full of dry ice when I go out - probably because bouncers give the managers a tip off when I come in, to make visibility difficult so that their doggish female clientele don't feel threatened by my presence. On nights out, I find people throwing themselves out of my way as I stagger my way on to the dance floor. They are literally blown over by my bloodshot eyes, smudged mascara and toned-down, devil-may-care attitude to eloquence and coherence.

Beer is the secret to my beauty
People should not be shunning me for my looks, but lauding me for my motivation and dedication in preserving my excellent appearance. It takes one heck of a lot of will power to sit at home on Facebook, resisting the tempting allure of a 10 mile power-walk in the pouring rain. I rarely allow myself to overcome my natural urge to eat a low-fat salad of lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber AND a glass of mineral water if instead I can have a curry, naan bread, rice, poppadoms and a beer. My love-handles don't feed themselves you know!

So come on guys, enough of the hate, we rare to find, super-hot Goddesses should be celebrated, nay, worshiped for our modesty and charm. All together now, 'I'm sexy and I know it!'
(By 'I'm sexy' - you obviously mean; 'Charlotte's sexy')

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