The Ultimate Dreamboat Sexgod

 Today I saw my Prince Charming. Strong, handsome and sexy. David Beckham is the ultimate dish, and we all know it. Okay, I'm just kidding, I didn't actually see him, but seeing as we are on the internet, I don't think it will do me any favors to disclose the name of my very own Prince Charming. For the purposes of this post I shall call him 'David'.

In reality my relationship with David, is very similar to the picture below. As much as David has acknowledged my existence with the odd smile or text, our paths haven't crossed enough for me to woo him. I say this, but my attempts at getting anyone to fall for me more often than not resemble incident's that should really have been put on 'You've been framed.' Its sod's law than when Mr. Dreamboat Sexgod walks into the room that I have to trip up, start choking, or fall off a chair. 

To make matters worse, I have come back to Uni to find that 'David' has just recently got back from a rendezvous with his new long-legged, Rapunzel haired, skinny, olive-skinned girlfriend (whilst I presumably sat at home eating biscuits and watching Hollyoaks). OF TWO WEEKS. Since when has it been acceptable to go to one of the most romantic cities of the world on holiday with someone you've only been with for such a minuscule amount of time?

Just in case its not too late...(sorry about the quality!)

I've come to the conclusion, that maybe no amount of wooing will lead me to Prince Charming. Unfortunately for me, unlike Miss. Skinny legs, I have not been blessed with the attributes suitable for a knight in shining armor. When I go out on a night out with my friends, it's a competition among my friends to see can where the highest heels, and who's legs can touch the ceiling first. On the scale of sloth to giraffe legs, I'm at the former end. At a measly height of 5'3", my friends look like they are taking their younger sister out on a night with them. On Remembrance Day, a man told my friend to help me with my poppy, because he didn't like "kiddy -winks playing with pins." Secondly, no matter how much crusty bread I eat, I still can't manage to grow my hair to the length of Rapunzel. Seriously, if I was locked up in a tower, then I would be in big trouble.

The Dream Legs

Living in a house of girls is definitely survival of the fittest. When the internet engineer came over to fix the line on Sunday, two of my friends nearly fell out over who "had dibs on him." I'm presuming that his fiance was at home waiting for him, but really he didn't have a say in the matter. We've had conversations about who will end up getting married first, and who will end up resorting to getting a cat first. Everyone politely says "oh no YOU'LL definitely end up getting married first," but in this day and age, where everyone makes their mind up on other people by checking out their social media websites, do short-legged, pasty white people who aren't afraid to look silly in a picture, really have a hope? The only silver lining is that I've discovered a magical little tool in Photoshop that allows me to make myself taller, and I managed to go a whole 2 hours today before someone commented on my new profile picture with David Beckham that I was actually too tall for it to be true. I've also discovered the "tanning" tool, but I do have some boundaries.

I have come to the conclusion, that if it is true love then maybe my Prince Charming can cope with the fact that I will never have Giraffe legs, and he will just have to squint when my bright white legs blind him with their glow. I might not be 5'6" with elbow length blonde hair and a washboard stomach, but on the plus side I'm not afraid to spend a day without feeling the need to wear make up, or fake tan, and I hope that that is desirable enough. Plus, none of these girls have had their picture taken with Becks. So for now, I'll just sit back, stop the man hunt, have a giggle with the girls and wait for Prince Charming to find me.

"Happiness does not depend on outward things, but on the way we see them" - Leo Tolstoy.