The Complete Package

Being told I am the "complete package" is like hooking up with an ex, so wonderful and fantastic in the moment I feel like I am on cloud nine- and then 20 minutes later I desperately regret it and kind of want to puke. Like, not gonna lie, it feels good to be told that I am everything a boy is looking for. That sounds cheesy and cliche, but cliches are cliches for a reason right? Plus, for some reason, as a human I just gain so much satisfaction from knowing that I am all a person wants. And although there is no set "complete package," for a person, it is nice to believe that I am the exception. Like it is super super awesome to think that I am the perfect balance of mysterious and cute and smart and funny- like wowza. Hearing the words "you are everything a boy dreams of," is SO COOL until you remember that boy has a girlfriend then it's like okay if I am the complete package to you, then are you just not a "complete package" type of guy? That translates to "you are the complete package but you're missing a piece of scotch tape over here and you have the wrong bow." Like are you more of a "gift bag" kind of boy, or is my bow just not glittery enough compared to hers?  So I am the complete package, but am I just not the right kind of wrapping paper? Like okay cool!!! It's like telling me I am the "complete package" is slapping on a thick layer of glitter sugar coating while being broken up with.

But something to remember, everyone brings their own package to the table. Someones complete package could not be enough for you, maybe they are perfect and shiny and have mastered the perfect bow but they are an awful dingy dollar store toothbrush on the inside. Or maybe, they have a battered packaging that repels you, but on the inside they hold a gift that is meaningful and it fills you up. I don't know much about anything really, but I do know that just as presents come in all different shapes and sizes, so do humans. So we, myself included, need to give people a chance- you never know what's under that wrapping paper, maybe it's a sour belt kind of boy. 

xoxo