How do you feel when you look at the mirror and your massive head stares right back at you?
How many times have you wondered why pimples are having a nationwide conference on your face. If only those pimples would let you choose where they’d meet, you’d gladly let them have your entire back for free, in stead of your face.
How many times have you wished you were just slightly taller? Or that you were not so fat that everybody called you fatty bom bom? Or so slim they called you thinny kpelenge?
How many times have you stared at the exquisite magazines and wished you were only half as beautiful as the models, with the stunning figure 8… and okay, if you cannot get the figure 8, at least, something close to it.
How many times have you stared and stared and stared at the mirror, only to have a well-rounded belly wink at you instead of 6-packs, despite all your working out?
For how long will you blame your mum for being so short, that you had to inherit her genes? Or your dad for being so dark… black even? And them both for marrying each other? It’s all because of them you are the way you are.
Why is your hair so short and scanty?
Why is your smile crooked and ugly?
Why are your teeth stained?
Why are you so hairy?
Why are the buttocks absent?
Where are the hips?
Where are the biceps?
Why are the fats accumulating in all the wrong places?
The list of imperfections is inexhaustible…
No, I’m not about to encourage you; just wanted to say that everyone’s got imperfections.