You hear these abstract stories about the pretty girl having it easier. People like her more so she has it easier in life. I thought this was a fat girl's line. I thought that was bullshit. But hey... listen to this fat girl.
Suddenly I'm working beside a runway model (some clear exaggeration should be inferred here) and that line is finding some truth in my eyes. Suddenly I'm the backseat driver.
... I'll take care of the paperwork while she works the front lines. I'll make the coffee so she can hand it out. I'll crawl under the machine so she can shine from above.
I'm getting sick. Not that I don't have my own insecurity bullshit to deal with. But I'm tripping over myself. I bust my ass for nearly four years... she walks in and in under one year she has them all tickled. She says... you don't want to look like me, I'm just there to look at.
Fuck that, I want to shine! I want to be the prize! I want the long tan legs that make men stupid and weak. But the grossest thing to me is that we've submitted to using her. Send her here, send her there, have her work that event or this one... but be sure to wear your pretty little skirt. Gag!
I try not to talk about work, but this constant reminder is helping me to break down on a daily basis. I try not to see all the differences in treatment... but they are screaming in my god damned face!
I'm envious, green, jealous, and I'm making myself sick with it. If only I felt sick enough to stick a finger down my throat maybe this game of bullshit could be over with.
But maybe it won't ever be... not because I'm fat, short, pale as a ghost, with curls of chaos... but because I'm opinionated, bitchy, passionate, controlling, and overly honest. I call it like I see it, and as she loves to remind me, you can't do that... we have to treat them like children. With kids gloves gently caressing their sensibilities.
I'm too busy stroking my own insecurities. And this one has me questioning if I want to stay here much longer... because daily I look in the mirror... and I see shit. Unhappy, unhealthy, negative, gray matter in oblivion. If I were them... I'd pick her too.