I’ll never be a supermodel.
I’ll never have six-pack abs or arms to die for.
My hair will never make all the other moms green with envy.
I still have acne, which looks especially lovely with my crow’s feet.
My feet are huge and in dire need of a pedicure.
I’ll never fit into this world’s definition of beauty. I’m too fat, too old, too stretch-marked, too arthritic, too gray.
But he thinks I’m beautiful.
And after all these years, every now and then I catch myself believing it.