But it wasn’t quite enough. She would be much more beautiful if only her breasts were fuller. She plunked down some money and her breasts perked like two giant cantaloupes. Now, that’s much better she thought. She took a selfie and posted it and hundreds of comments came pouring in on how sexy she was.
Still, she knew she could be more beautiful if only her face looked more youthful, her eyebrows were lifted up, laugh lines erased, the mole on her forehead removed, the fat from her inner thighs sucked out, her butt lifted up, her stomach tightened and her waistline synched. She plunked down the money and had it all done. Now, that’s what it takes to be truly beautiful she thought. She raised her phone to take a selfie. Her face was red and puffy and wrapped in gauze. Her butt hurt. Her thighs hurt. Her stomach hurt. She could not take a selfie like that.
She stayed in bed for several weeks. Every morning, when the sun rose, she raised her phone to take a selfie. Each time, she saw pain staring back at her and decided against it. She would wait until she was truly beautiful.
One morning, the rain came down hard. She positioned her phone over her face to see if it was time. But still, she saw pain. “Can pain be beautiful?” she thought. She took the picture and posted it. The hours passed and there were no comments. Not even one like. Something in her knew the answer to her question. She closed her blistering eyelids and listened to the rain tap dancing on her windowpane.