Scribblings Of A Dramatic Introvert

  "Speaking of lovely; That's what I've always known them to be all my life. Their  skin- creamy white and their figure: eight- perfect for the view. I told  my father they were like mayonnaise. Some of them were white as sheet, adorned as the image of perfection. They had beautiful hair,  tumbling downwards in docile curls. Mine was ugly; it  remained an amusement to my brothers who  had made a game of hiding my combs just to see me run with the thick mane on my head every morning I had to visit the onídìrì. I had wanted just the hair as a little  girl. I spent good time staring at commercials that played on our fourteen inch TV set, in awe. My father usually snapped me out of it, sending me to my books; the  only way, he chanted day after night. Still , I was always mesmerized by them. I never did look down on my own skin. I didn't  realize we were worlds apart. Their  flow seeming unnatural, I once thought they were goddesses. I g...