My girl.

One day I had a melt-down... I had to go to an event and stood in my closet... I had no clothes... I was ugly and my hair wasn't right... I threw a fit and plopped myself down in my comfy chair and declared to whoever was listening that I would not be going to the event, unless I was allowed to show up in my underwear. I was vaguely aware in my periphery of my men folk gingerly walking on egg shells, staring at me like I'd developed two heads. And suddenly, at my elbow was a little girl with large, sympathetic eyes. "I will help you, Mommy," she said, and darted off to her room. Back she came with her pretend hair dryer/straightener/curling iron/brush set and proceeded to do my hair. A few minutes later she pronounced it done. "There," she said. "You look pretty now."

Call me a bad mom for throwing a fit in front of my kids. Call me a bad example to my daughter of being discontent with my looks if you must. I'm just really thankful to have her. Someone who gets me completely. Who realizes that sometimes, as much as you want to be happy in your own skin, sometimes you just aren't. And sometimes all it takes to feel better is a girlfriend who doesn't ask questions and knows that once in a while all you need is a good hair brush and to be told that you're pretty.