As a young girl, I suffered greatly with my self-image. One day, while staring tearfully in the mirror, I asked myself, “Why was I born this ugly?” My father, who had heard me, approached softly, held me by the shoulders, and asked, “Didn’t you know? Before you were born, I unintentionally delivered my dashing good looks to the incorrect address.

But don’t worry, I have the receipt!” I looked at him, puzzled, “The receipt?” “Yep,” he replied with a grin. “So, when you turn 18, we can trade it in for something even better—like a personality so charming that no one will notice what you consider ‘ugly.’

Trust me; it’s a better deal.” I couldn’t help but laugh despite my tears. My father smirked and said, “Until then, you’re stuck with that face—and it’s a pretty good one, if you ask me.”