It's something her mother would say, like the time she told her "When I was your age I was skinny, I shopped in the kids section and I went out with my friends."
She does not know what to make of it as she sits here, pondering all the(more) anger inside, always bubbling just below the surface ready to spew acid at her mother, at anyone, unwitting enough to get to close to her.
One day she will have to face up to it, that she won't ever be pretty enough, thin enough, popular enough, smart enough. Not by her standards, and she hopes (it is a small hope) that her daughter fares better against her than she did against her.
She's a pretty child and every day she tells her, she's smart, smarter than that. (less)