(98%) of girls want to be skinnier

I'm completely making that statistic up.

Just to clarify.

But from the conversations I've had and overheard as a woman, it seems to the case.

If you're 11, 12, 13, 14, maybe you're OK with yourself now but God forbid you get some hips. Or strong muscles from all those sports you're playing. Or a little extra tummy from all those beautiful songs you're practicing on the cello. Or stretch marks on your thighs and/or butt from all that amazing growing your body does without us even trying.

The other 1.8% are the can't gain weight ladies that many love to hate. I do not hate you, I do not shame you. I am sorry you can't gain weight and look how you'd like to look. That must also and equally suck.

Really the point is, we want to look different. That's the point.

Oh, and that other 0.2%... those are the ones that are currently completely happy, content, satisfied with every curve, mark and hair. And wouldn't change a damn thing. Not a one.

I'm really, really not trying to shame anyone one way or the other. I'm trying to say...

Like yourself!

Like yourself. Not because someone else will like it, Like yourself.

Here's another reason to stop caring so much about what you look like and what you could change if only...

It doesn't matter. Lipstick is fine. Manicure's are fine. Working out... fine. I'm not saying trying is wrong. But your weight doesn't matter and nobody cares except you, and maybe your doctor.  And whether or not you have some sort of gap in between your thighs or bones sticking out or zits on your face. You know who cares the most? You. You know who has to be OK with you everyday for the rest of your life? You. You know who judges you the hardest? You. You do.

I get Glamour magazine. The December issue is Women of the Year 2014. Some of them are pretty cool. And every page I flip through between the inspirational stories are photo-shopped pictures of beautiful and flawless women (and men). And I mean beautiful in the American meaning... thin. Full lips. Big eyes. Mostly white. No skin imperfections. No rolls. No cankles.

That would be the weirdest magazine ever, wouldn't it. Just a bunch of average, normal looking people. Caught in the middle of their day looking crappy, and windblown, and with a chocolate shake in their hand that they're actually eating.

I don't actually think anything is going to change about magazines. And I think it's stupid that Glamour acts like some sort of Women's advocate. I guess it's better than nothing. Maybe. But it might just be doing more harm than good to pretend like that. I don't know.

I have this weird patch of freckles on my back shoulder that I really like. As long as it's not some sort of skin cancer I don't know about yet. If so get it off of me. I have the longest, ugliest toes and I've never liked my legs. And I'm pretty hairy, in general.

And you know what, none of that has anything to do with my brain, my heart, my ability to be a human and love and care and work and I can freaking walk around and use my legs and I should just be thankful every day I can breathe.

And you should too.

You can breathe. Today.

Like yourself. And like other people. And don't talk about them behind their back unless it's really kind things.

OK. I'm done.

If you want to compare arm hair, I'm always here for you. Always.