Proof That Pretty People Don't Have Problems

The last Diary entry of a now-deceased young woman who spent her life being beautiful before she was run over. She even looked beautiful as a stain on the grill of the #9 bus. This entry is proof that pretty people live perfect lives.

You can tell she was serious by the way she dotted her i's with hearts.

Just The Facts

  1. Pretty people don't need friends.
  2. Pretty people don't have feelings.
  3. Pretty people can't write satire.

Dear Diary,

Today was another perfect day in Pretty Person World! Let me start at the beginning.

This morning, I went to go get my coffee, and I was kind of feeling down. You know, because my cat just died a few days ago. I really loved that cat, and I was thinking about her in line at the coffee place. I was on the verge of tears, when a nice older man turned around and saw me. "Smile!" he told me. "A pretty girl like you should always smile!" And so I immediately felt better, and I smiled. Because he was right. I should smile. Diary, I am so lucky that being pretty makes everything okay. It's not a big deal that my beloved cat died. My waterproof mascara looks great! So I was fully recovered by the time I got to the front of the line and caught my beautiful reflection in the coffee machine's metallic surface. That made me smile again, and I totally forgot the thirteen wonderful years I spent with my cat. I ordered my coffee black, since I like it that way. Plus, I've heard that if I put sugar in it, I might get fat and start experiencing emotions. I imagine that must be awful. Thank goodness being pretty and skinny spares me that kind of hardship!

Then I went to work, where my day continued to improve. Some guy held the door for me on my way in, as usual, which makes life so much easier. I farted in the elevator on the way up, too, which would have been embarrassing if I didn't fart rose-scented gas like all pretty people do. Linda, the woman who works the front desk at our office, was rude to me again, for no reason. (Jill, in the next cubicle, said Linda's jealous of me because flowers get delivered to me at work so often. That strikes me as silly, because those flowers were from my ex-boyfriend, trying to make up for cheating on me and shattering my heart. Luckily, right after that happened, the grief I experienced caused me to lose three pounds, and I instantly felt better.) I am always nice to Linda, and I ask about her children, but she just hates me. I wonder what it's like to have children who love you? I am a long way from having children myself. All the guys I date run for the hills when they find out I have opinions and doubts. They always say they wish I were just like my pictures from my modeling days, smiling all the time and silent.

I try not to take all these people disliking me personally, but I'm starting to wonder if there is some kind of Me-Haters club I don't know about. Maybe that's where all my girl friends went? I don't understand why girls don't like me. I am never catty, and I always am supportive when they need my help. My gay friend Joey says it's because I'm so pretty and funny and outgoing and smart, girls think I'm trying to steal their boyfriends. Or worse, they think I might steal their boyfriends without trying to! I've tried to explain to everyone that I don't want their boyfriends, but they don't listen to me. I've had my heart broken enough times that I would never dream of hurting another girl by stealing her man, even if I could. But I just shrug it off when girls ditch me or are mean to me because of how I look. I mean, who needs friends when you can just stare at yourself in the mirror all day? Who needs a girl friend to go shopping with when you're shopping for size 2 dresses? What kind of pathetic, needy sick-o would want a friend to talk to about a bad day with? I guess someone who has bad days. I don't, because I'm gorgeous. Obviously.

Later in the day, I overheard Linda telling one of our coworkers how she was "sick of" me getting "special treatment" in the office. I was on the verge of being upset, because I had just had another email from my mother, saying that my uncle who's in the hospital has taken a turn for the worst. But then I heard Linda saying this and it reminded me that I shouldn't be sad. Losing my uncle might suck if it happens, but at least I get special treatment at work! Plus, the relatives of attractive people never get sick and die, so I shouldn't worry. I work super hard at my job, which I got because I'm qualified in my field, so I'm not worried about getting in trouble or fired over this "special treatment" thing either. Plus, pretty people don't get fired, or frantically scramble to make rent. Our cars don't break down, our families are all perfect and loving, and when we bleed, we bleed glitter in a very attractive manner. Maybe Linda thinks I am getting special treatment because I have never taken a sick day? It's not my fault that pretty people don't get sick or injured, or ever need mental health days! Our beauty is not just skin deep, it extends to our internal organs AND our brains. We are perfect through and through and so we don't need sick days like average people do.

On the bus home from work, there was a creepy-looking man who would not stop staring at me. I didn't really feel safe because he was looking at me like I was something to eat. It made me so uncomfortable that I got off the bus a stop before where I was supposed to, to walk instead. As I was walking down the street, a man whistled at me, and yelled, "Shake that ass, baby!" This made me feel better. How could I be upset about a creepy guy scaring me off the bus when the streets are full of people ready to compliment me?

Then I stopped by the grocery store, to get my favorite snack food: baby carrots with ranch dip. There was a woman in the aisle next to me, and when I passed by her with my food, I heard her say "skinny bitch" under her breath. I was confused at first, Diary, because I don't think I've ever met her or done anything mean to her. I must have done something bitchy I am unaware of, because I get this a lot. I have tried to eat fattening foods but they made me feel sick, so I stick to making healthy choices most of the time. And working out really helps me to manage the anxiety and depression that I was born with and struggle with sometimes. (Of course, by "struggle with" I mean "enjoy". I'm not really sure what "struggle" means. I read it in a book once and thought it was such a funny-sounding word. It sounds like something a circus performer would do!).

When I got home, I had a message from my platonic guy friend, Michael. He said he had heard about my breakup, and was calling me to see if I was alright and if I wanted to go to dinner and talk about it. I really needed a good friend and some comfort, so I called him back and met him at the restaurant a little while later. The meal was really good, and Michael told some funny jokes that made me laugh. But I guess laughing at his jokes must have been the wrong thing to do, because Michael didn't seem to understand that when I said I needed comfort, I meant "comfort" as in, a listening ear, not his hard cock. After I told him that I was taking time off dating and men, he got all indignant and was rude to me as he put me in the cab home. I tried calling him to thank him for dinner when I got home, but he didn't answer. Something tells me I won't hear from him again, as usually happens when I tell my guy friends that I won't be sleeping with them. I'm not mad at Michael, though. It's my fault for thinking that I deserved a male friend who didn't see me as a walking vagina. How ridiculous of me! Pretty girls don't need men in our lives who don't see us as sex objects. What would I do with a guy friend who stuck around after I told him I wasn't interested in sleeping with him? Form a meaningful friendship based on shared trusts and values? Please. I don't have values, or insecurities, or problems. I'm pretty!

When I got home from dinner, I had a glass of wine. I tried to only have one, but one glass somehow turned into me drinking the whole bottle. My doctor says I can't drink like this, because alcoholism runs in my family and this kind of behavior could be dangerous. But what does he know? He is obviously unaware that I, like all pretty people, am immune to addictions and health problems. I don't drink because I'm lonely, duh. I have my reflection in the mirror to keep me company. My reflection has been there for me for years. Like three years ago, when my dad died, I was only sad for a minute until I saw my face in the mirror and realized that I even look beautiful crying (unlike Kim Kardashian). And how could I justify being upset when I looked so great?

So, Diary, today has been wonderful, like every day of my life has been since I was born beautiful. When I pray tonight, I'm going to thank God for making me beautiful so that I don't have to feel emotions or deal with the problems that face every other human being on the planet. I'm going to tell God that I am thankful that he has not sent me many good friends, because I don't want to burden anyone with my perfect world problems when they have real world problems to deal with. I am also going to thank God for the mercy he shows to average people in not allowing them to waste their pity or kindness on someone like me, who doesn't deserve it because of the way I look. And, most of all, I am going to thank God for you, Diary. You're the only one who's always there for me. I'm sorry you're such a plain old notebook. Maybe tomorrow I will go to the craft store and get some rhinestones and glitter to decorate you with, so that you will be pretty too. Goodnight, Diary!


A Pretty Girl