Let me vent because I'm not a perfect 10.

When no one's watching, that's who you really are. And on that note, I would like to say that MEN ARE SUCH PIGS. Just because women don't confront you with the things that you do or keep behind your back, doesn't mean we don't know and we aren't affected. I am PISSED. I shouldn't be but I AM. And you don't know it, but I'm screaming my head off right now. It just had to come at a time like this. At a time when I'm my most vulnerable.

I'm not making sense, am I? I'll give you the backstory and you can just figger out what the hell I'm ranting about.

the Dad: What? Men don't care about stretchmarks. I asked my friend Glam Rock and Druggie and they said they didn't mind.
the Mom: Yeah right. *rolls her eyes*
the Dad: Really, men don't mind.
the Mom: And just because you gathered your TWO, COUNT 'EM, TWO friends, you think that's a sufficient sample size, therefore proving you right? Puh-lease.
the Dad: *getting exasperated by the pregnancy hormones* Men really don't mind.
the Mom: Whatever. Shut up.
the Dad: Why are women so self-conscious anyway?
the Mom: *seeing red, thinking to herself "I can't believe he has the nerve to ask me THIS question"* You know what? Women who have "self-confidence" or "self-esteem" are living in a certain kind of denial. The kind where we know we're not perfect because someone out there will always be better looking, smarter, prettier, taller, whiter/more tanned, than us. And we can live with that -- up to a certain point. Already our egos are fragile knowing that men worship such perfect goddesses on-screen and try to find that equal in the real world. I'll save you the trouble and tell you right now that it doesn't exist. And most men STILL can't grasp that concept, thus women primp and exercise and deform themselves in order to be picked out of the lot. So when you tell me that "stretchmarks don't matter", I'm not ranting because I don't think you acknowledge the seriousness of this skin issue. I am ranting because, albeit, normal, it's another blow to our already-fragile minds. We KNOW that we are not a 10. We KNOW we can never be like Angelina Jolie. But it's another straw on the insecure camel's back. And when you're not sensitive enough to see that, we die a little. We'll live, of course. But trust that we've died a little inside.



Disclaimer: I didn't exactly respond that way to the Dad. I so would've liked to. But I think I already cashed in my emotional ranting rations for the week. Maybe the week after that.

PS.
the Dad: Do you really think you're hotter than Angelina Jolie?
the Mom: *unflinching* YES.