Dear Diary

For lack of better terms I find myself in the grocery store hunting for a magazine . As I walk effortlessly through the isle I scold myself for becoming a society robot , or have I ? I'm walking the isle in my victoria secret sweats ( no they do not say pink on my derie'r) my hair is tied up in a pony tail , and I have no make up . It's Easter Sunday and I'm surrounded by woman out in their Sundays best and today I don't care .

So why am I here ? The magazine . Playboy that is . You see as a woman I need to compare to see why or how these perfect woman have what it takes to win the world . ( do I really believe that ?) no .
Today I am seeing a plastic surgeon to have fixed what another ruined years ago . So here is the magazine Dr. Can you , in inretrospect just get me close to this ?

I find the isle I'm looking for , the magazine rack and the dirty secret of woman listed on the pages and pages of perfection , I pick it up and go on my marry way . Sweats and all . Scolding my very own right of passage as I enter the check out line . Can't a man love a woman who isn't a play boy perfect girl ? Can a man love me ? Then I realize the war is not with the world or against other woman the war is simply with in myself .

So the lesson here is love your self . And anyone who does not love you for who you are , can go kiss your victoria secret wearing ass . End of story .