The Pretty Girl?

I've never been beautiful. I was always smart. And in my mind and family, you couldn't be both. My sister was beautiful and I was smart. The smart little fat girl whose grandparents made of her for being chubby and slow...and not beautiful. I've always assigned a high importance to beauty. And it's always something I so very wanted but new I could never get.

The one time I was called beautiful - and believed it  - was from my Stepmom's boss. And it didn't come directly from him. It was a remark he made to her. He said "Meagan (my sister) is a pretty girl but Cassie is beautiful." And that's stuck with me. That one person out there thought I was beautiful. And maybe it was inner beauty, but a man thought I was beautiful.

I'm coming to terms with my looks, with having pictures taken, and even looking at my self in the mirror. I've always know I was sexy, I do sex well, but beautiful no. I don't look like those people in a magazine. Even of the fat girls, I don't photograph well, my boobs are small, there's bags under my eyes. 

But maybe I'm starting to see what others see. Cake man thinks I'm "so pretty." We'll just be talking and he'll stop and say "wow, you're so pretty." And I just sent a quick, dumb snap of me soaking up the sunshine to a man who may be interest, who may not. He said "that's such a great pic." So, I actually looked at it. And yeah, it is, I'm not half bad. And for today, that's a win.