Miss Cherry Red

Motherhood. Love. Life. And everything in between


Check out my friend.  And I do mean her, not her breasts:

dudes.

Look thats her – on the left!

For the record: the chap giving us the ‘v’ in the background is J.  I’ve cut him to spare his blushes.

Back to the point at hand.

She thinks she’s fugly.

What the hell is fugly?  It’s not even a word.  I know it’s not a word because I googled it and anyone whose anyone knows that google is the place to go when you want to know something.  Well, actually you go to wikipedia first and then do a google search – but hey, whose arguing.

Fugly still isn’t a word.

She has this boyfriend.

He is, in her words, the best thing that has ever happened to her.  And I’m inclined to agree.  Her last boyfriend was a first rate asshole.  No wait, thats too tame:  he was a complete and utter tosser who deserves no happiness after the way he treated her.  Knobhead.

Anyway, back to The Boyfriend.  He is a really nice guy.  Perfect for her.  They live together and everything.  I mean, they bought a cat together for Gods sake.  Nothing speaks committment like a dirty stinking cat pet.

But he’s a lot little on the lazy side and I don’t think he quite gets how it makes her feel, constantly having to nag his lazy backside into doing something.  And they’re not big things either.  Stuff like washing the plates, clearing up after himself, putting the laundry on or even putting the loo seat down (Keira does the toilet seat patrol in our house and God help Justin anyone if it’s left up).

Small things: Big nagging.

She hates it.  Doesn’t make her feel at all good about herself.  At all.

When we’re all together on one of our rare get together’s, I do (in my own kind of special way) try to hint that maybe he could be a little more considerate but it falls on deaf ears.

The constant ‘chats’ they have make her really down about herself.  Makes her feel that if he can’t be bothered to do the little things then he clearly doesn’t want to do the bigger things with her and she gets this mindset that she’s too ugly, too fat, not good enough.

BLAH BLAH BLAH

So I have this to say to her:

You are beautiful.  I don’t care what you tell me.  God gave you an hour glass figure that you don’t appreciate.  He gave you breasts that some women pay thousands of pounds to replicate and you have a heart the size of the universe and you are too quick to forget that.

You are the best friend anyone could have and those who have you as a friend, me included, count themselves lucky every day because of it.  You are funny, honest and more loyal than anyone of us deserve.  But you’re here.

Life and love isn’t about being tagged the hottest girl in school or work.  It’s not about fitting into the same size jeans at Posh Spice.  It isn’t about loving someone because they fit this crazy view of everyone must be perfect.

You’re not perfect – you have grey hairs for christ sake 😉 and I love you just the way you are 🙂

6 thoughts on “fugly isn’t even a word

  1. oh wow. this made me teary-eyed. you’re such a good friend to your beauty of a friend.

  2. misscherryred says:

    ahhh, thank you.

    Sometimes she forgets how fab she is!

    Nice to remind her I think.

  3. chrysantha says:

    i love this! you are a great friend… i usually read this poem by maya angelou when i get down… and then i pick myself right back again! http://chrysantha.wordpress.com/2009/11/09/i-am-a-phenomenal-woman-with-audiobook-of-maya-angelous-poem/

  4. Jodes says:

    this reminds me how lucky & proud i am to call you one of my best friends. love ya mate. x

  5. misscherryred says:

    *wipe tears*
    Thanks Jodes
    xx

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: