There’s a voice inside of you telling you NO! This is stupid!, but do you listen? Nooooo…. Shit. Everyone knows that partying till 2am in the morning the day before work is stupid. Nobody does it. You know this, I know this, everyone knows this! I know this!
So, there was this ex-model company woman who came up to me last night and told me I was beautiful. Just like that. Blunt. With no romantic dash sexual relevant hints at all. Just: You’re beautiful. Not that I wanted to have anything to do with her, and she probably knew this very well. But still. "You are beautiful." I shrugged.
"Yes, I know." What the hell can you reply?
Anywho.. She said I was beautiful, and that she could tell because she had been (se: had been) working for this model company. Okay. Then: "But you’ll need to fix some items." Items? Wtf?
"Don’t be offended, but you’ll need to fix your teeth. The cigarette and coffee stains must go. And maybe narrow the nose a bit." I smiled. "Why would I do such a thing?" She was abashed by such a blasphemy. "More girls..?" I shrugged again. In fact, shrugging is my favourite reply. It can mean all sorts of things. It can mean that I see your point, that I halfly agree with your point, that I find myself too important too agree with anything like your point, that I don’t really care about neither you or your point etc. Shrugging would be my reply if someone asked me to take over the Chicago mafia, or if someone would give me the Oscar even though I haven’t starred in any movies. But I digest. Digress. Whatever.
She interpreted my shrug by the context, and did it well indeed.
But I had to keep the conversation going for at least another minute, since my friends hadn’t exited the kiosk yet, and I was waiting for them. So I added: "But what would such an action, getting my teeth fixed and my nose narrowed (even just a little bit), say about me?" She smiled.
I saw the point of her being an ex-model company associate.
"You learn not to see just the eyes or the legs, but the whole thing." She said. And my whole thing was apparently pretty good. Except for the teeth and that. I was beautiful.
Today I’m not. My eyes are red, my hands are shaking and my belly is raging a civil war with my intestines using gas as a primary tactical firepower. Ah, the price one pays. The Humanity!
My baggy, german underpants feels like a definite mismatch in conjunction with my long-johns. But I love these boxers! I got’em in Berlin when I was sixteen or something. Didn’t know how to tell the size of it. XXXL. Then again, today everything feels wrong. Yesterday, though.. Yesterday I was beautiful.