Ma insomma.
Continuo a notare questa cosa: a voi uomini piacciono le tipe perfette , 50 kg per 175cm, quelle tipe da 90-60-90, anzi, facciamo pure 200-30-40. Belle tettone, con vitino da vespa e culetto che parla da solo.
Noi donne invece no.
Non siamo mica così esigenti, anzi. Per quanto mi riguarda (ma parlo anche a nome delle mie best friends) l'uomo perfetto ... se lo vedi lo eviti !
Dai, tutto pelle e muscoli, viso rilassato che sembra non faccia un cavolo dalla mattina alla sera, sorriso stampato con denti bianchissimi in bella vista, occhio lucido, capello very healthy.
dress as if she had just finished taking off for Armani.
tanned as if he had just returned from a cruise in the Maldives.
confident, full of friends, surrounded by atomic hotties who crave to get on his big car. Yes, because the boy in question which has the big car well, you know .. is full of money. Otherwise it would not be perfect .
No, no, for heaven's sake. I know from a fake case. And then as I could I stay in its path? I should already be
chick just woke up, without any type of opacity of the skin and eyes without that feeling of imbogonati (later, the feeling is not ..).
Should I dress up as a career manager for going to the supermarket (although, come to think better, to push the cart with heel 12 would not be a bad idea. At least I could take the damn softener that is always stuck on the top shelf).
I should never be hungry. Also because even with an apple or a fruit yoghurt me you would see her belly, and then, I'd TF (TF = Cut Out).
Should I have long hair, loose and flowing, shiny and thick. But even stopping to eat, all the essentials for healthy hair disappear and then the hair becomes tow, I think. Ok, so here TF.
Pit stop. What then
as do the super cool show to weigh 40 kg and at the same time to have hair like this?? Nerves. Nerves. Nerves.
Among my resolutions of 2011 put c'avevo too: tie the payment of tissue Striscia La Notizia Panettone and filled up until it becomes a cicciabomba . A little naughty, like respect, I admit it ... but I'd feel a lot better. I swear.
E 'then risk jail, and then I removed from the list.
End Pit stop.
And then I have the amber complexion even in winter: ok, here are the lamps. And ok, they'll give me was me. But the lamps are an expense eh, but always a minimum expenditure.
And my salary is reduced. So a subscription trifacciale more = a sweater in less fashion. But he
, so perfect and stylish, I would certainly see more than twice with the same sweater on him. It would be an affront to his image! Ok, TF here ... So
abhor the type perfect.
I categorically refuse because I find it boring, heavy anxiety.
is not for me, because I am not perfect and I do not want to be.
I want to eat my pound of Miel Pops for breakfast, look in the mirror just wake up and make a little grimace of disgust, wear the same clothes for at least 10 times in a season, go to the supermarket in tennis shoes, to say the bad words, you hair is just swell mushroom 2% moisture in the air, have waist and cosciottine panda to do a spit.
Tie.
Pit stop.
Oh God I'm becoming an old maid.
Help.
This is the kind of stumped by zitellaggine acute.
Help. Help.
End Pit stop.
I do not think that my revulsion against perfect man is comparable to the fable of the fox and the grapes .
I am sure that commitment, I might get myself a place beside the man perfect.
But I do not want a seat next to a man, I want a man next to me.
Here.
Ok, here ends the agony of this post. See you at the next
stumped!
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