Every day I get up and get ready. I wash and arrange my hair. Put on perfume and a little make up. Put in my contacts and put on clothes I think are flattering. It can take me an hour to get washed and dried and dressed.

Then at the end of the day my make up is faded away. My hair might succumb to the humidity or come out of its pins. Contacts are replaced with glasses. Jeans and shoes give way to a pair of comfy pants and socks.

Like yesterday. It's nearly 11. I'm wearing glasses and sweat pants and a cropped tee. Lying there listening to basketball with no thought given to my hair, which is in disarray on the pillow.

That's when he tells me I'm gorgeous. That my skin is perfect and I'm his dream girl.

Then it's morning. My eyes are puffy and my hair is tangled. I've barely opened my eyes. That's when he tells me I'm beautiful.