Somebody please tell me; am I the only one who can see "Stepford" flashing on this poor child's forehead? It's always about what Tom wants, what Tom says, what Tom's doing. Yet, she's always smiling. I wonder how happy she really is? I wonder if she remembers who she is or who she used to be?
Sometimes, in one of my occasional periods of self-doubt, I sit and think what it would be like if I had it better, if I was prettier, skinnier, younger, had more money, was famous. But then reality settles over me like an old comfortable sweater, and I realize that it's just fine being the average Jasmine I am, in the skin I'm in, in a position to make calls and decisions about me that are all my own.
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