I hope I never have a daughter.
If I did, I’d be worried sick all the time of her walking alone at night wearing skirts. I’d be sorry for all her hormone-related woes – her sadness, her fears, her body image trouble, her fertility, the purity of her body and her mind and her soul. I’d be helpless in securing her future happiness, because it doesn’t lie so much in her own career path or intellect as much as it does in her meeting and being with a decent guy who would never hurt her.
What am I going to do if she turns out to be below-average in her looks? How can I lie to her face every day, this person that is partially me, and tell her that no, looks don’t matter, that inner beauty does, and she’s beautiful on the INSIDE and that’s all that…
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