Don't ask a mirror
The user picture for this blog is of the salt lamp I keep in my room. I originally got it because of its supposed therapeutic effects in warding off allergies with its negative ions. While I still have my allergies, I have grown quite fond of the thing as it looks in person as if it has a face. It’s an orange chunk of rock vaguely reminiscent of an Easter Island statue, with dark smudges for eyes and a nose; and a two inch gash of a hyphen posing as a lopsided grin. It is a face of optimism etched in stone.
I’ve always liked faces, they are by far the sexiest and most alluring feature of any person. Some guys squint at legs, focus on bottoms, and gape at boobs, I like staring at faces. I’m unsure how common or evolutionarily sound this particular practice is (there is sound biological basis after all to run after those wenches with birthing hips and welcoming bosoms). But where other body parts all look the same after awhile, a face can always surprise and stun.
Pretty becomes polymorphous, a permutation of eyes, lips, and nose, unrestricted by any equation or standard model. Features which would not work in one face make another beautiful. Details you hadn’t noticed before, a pert nose, wide eyes, small gaps in between the teeth, suddenly become charming.
I’ve always liked faces perhaps because I don’t particularly care for mine. Whenever Nice would say that I looked good, I would “shush” her. Most of the time the parts just don’t seem to fit together too well, as if the lines of the sketch were changed halfway through by the artist to change the subject. My thick, almost uni-brow eyebrows could belong on a muppet while my long eyelashes and prominent lips are (quite frankly) more associated with women. If ever I got into a serious fight my first priority would be to protect my face - not in the interest of preserving any good looks, but simply because if my poor lip got hit it would probably burst like a ripe water balloon.
This is why it always amuses me when the rare person, sincerely or in a fit of politeness, compliments me on my looks. Honestly, there’s not much to look at here. But occasionally though I’ll glance in a mirror and on some good days my face can surprise even myself.
I’ve always liked faces, they are by far the sexiest and most alluring feature of any person. Some guys squint at legs, focus on bottoms, and gape at boobs, I like staring at faces. I’m unsure how common or evolutionarily sound this particular practice is (there is sound biological basis after all to run after those wenches with birthing hips and welcoming bosoms). But where other body parts all look the same after awhile, a face can always surprise and stun.
Pretty becomes polymorphous, a permutation of eyes, lips, and nose, unrestricted by any equation or standard model. Features which would not work in one face make another beautiful. Details you hadn’t noticed before, a pert nose, wide eyes, small gaps in between the teeth, suddenly become charming.
I’ve always liked faces perhaps because I don’t particularly care for mine. Whenever Nice would say that I looked good, I would “shush” her. Most of the time the parts just don’t seem to fit together too well, as if the lines of the sketch were changed halfway through by the artist to change the subject. My thick, almost uni-brow eyebrows could belong on a muppet while my long eyelashes and prominent lips are (quite frankly) more associated with women. If ever I got into a serious fight my first priority would be to protect my face - not in the interest of preserving any good looks, but simply because if my poor lip got hit it would probably burst like a ripe water balloon.
This is why it always amuses me when the rare person, sincerely or in a fit of politeness, compliments me on my looks. Honestly, there’s not much to look at here. But occasionally though I’ll glance in a mirror and on some good days my face can surprise even myself.