Screw Perfect — I’m Happier With All My Flaws

I used to think I had to be perfect to find the right guy or fit in with the right people. That’s all BS. My new motto is “screw perfect.” I’m happier with all my flaws and I wouldn’t trade them for anything — I’m happier just being me.

I’m never going to be perfect. I could spend every waking minute trying to change my supposed flaws, but I’ll still never be perfect. The moment I fix one thing, I’d find something else wrong. I’d be too old, too fat, too thin, too pale, too tan and so on. It’s a never-ending battle I’m not even going to try and fight.

Perfect’s another way of saying fake. Ever met someone who said they were perfect? Me too. I call those people fake. No one’s perfect. Anyone who pretends they’re perfect has one blatant flaw — they’re full of crap. I’d rather be flawed than have to lie about who I am.

I don’t want to be Barbie. Seriously, look at her feet. I know some people say Barbie’s perfect, but first, she’s a doll. Second, I don’t want to live on my tip toes. I’m never going to be perfect like a doll; no one is. Frankly, I don’t want to be. I want to actually live my life and doing so means I’m going to have some flaws.

I’m nothing without my attitude. I’m pretty sure if I was sent to an etiquette school, I’d be expelled as a lost cause on day one. Some call my attitude a flaw. I just consider it the center of my shining personality. If you don’t like it, I don’t care. It’s my snuggly safety blanket and I’m keeping it.

I love food too much to diet 24/7. I’ve gained weight over my life — it happens. I have better things to do than diet and exercise 24/7. Gaining weight isn’t a big deal. I like food and if that means some people think I’m fat, so be it. I’m probably happier than them anyway with my all meat pizza while they’re eating some kind of vegan crap.

My flaws weed out the losers. Perfection attracts losers like crap attracts flies. I know that if someone needs to criticize how I look, how I act and what I think, they’re not right for me. The right people love me for who I am. The rest can kiss my lily white ass.

I want to have fun, not perfection. Take a look at people who seem perfect. They exercise for hours, only eat a few spoonfuls a day, spend hours day and night on beauty routines and basically don’t really have a life at all. I want to get out and have some fun. I don’t care if it means breaking a nail or causing a few wrinkles later in life.

I’m only going to have more flaws as I age. Unless I opt for plastic surgery, I’m obviously going to have more physical flaws as I get older. It’s better to say screw perfection now than worry myself to death as wrinkles start to appear. I’m going to gain weight, get some age spots, have more scars and lose firmness in all the wrong places. It’s life and I plan to live it to the fullest instead of worrying about being perfect.

I could be happy or stressed out. Perfection equals stress. Not giving a damn equals happy. Guess which one I’m choosing?

My flaws aren’t that bad after all. As long as my flaws aren’t getting in the way of living a happy life, they’re not that bad. Sure, I wish my legs weren’t so pale or that my acne would finally go away, but that’s just who I am. I can still do anything I want and my flaws don’t get in the way.

Why should I be the only perfect person? If I’m perfect, then I’d be the only one It’d be awfully lonely at the top. I guess I’ll just be like all the other flawed people in the world.

I own my flaws and love who I am. I’m happier with all my flaws because I’ve learned to own them. They make me who I am and I love that woman. Letting go of the stress has made me more confident and attractive.

What the hell is “perfect” anyway? I could never be perfect because it means something different to everyone. Ask 10 different guys what the perfect woman looks like and you’ll get 10 different descriptions. Why would I ever try to be something that no one can even define?

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