Pretty as a Postcard

“I hate when people tell me I’m as ‘pretty as a postcard.’  Why do people think that’s a compliment?  I want to be noticed for my brain – something I actually work to improve.” 

The longer I listened to Morgan talk, the more I tuned her out.  I would be ecstatic for anyone to give me a single compliment.  Morgan got compliments several times a day and only chose to hear a few of them.  Usually she only heard the compliments she could complain about for the rest of the week. 

As much as I feel the annoyance of people only commenting on physical attributes, I think she just wanted attention and wanted me to think everyone was always talking to her and thinking about her. 

“What do you think about that idea?”  Morgan’s question brought me back to the present.  I stared at her a moment trying to decide if I should make something up or ask her to repeat the question. 

“I thought maybe if I stopped wearing makeup, men would stop commenting on how pretty I am.  But…” 

Luckily Morgan didn’t notice my hesitation in not answering her question so I slipped into the easy way out of not listening.  Instead, I planned how to get out of this relationship and out of this town.  I couldn’t take the talking.  The harassing.  The never ending monologue of how great a person she was.  But most of all, Morgan’s lies and betrayals.  I was planning my sweet revenge. 


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