I had to have a formal picture taken today for something related to Work.
Who is that middle-aged, chubby, vaguely rodent-like woman in the photographs? Surely that's not me. Is it? Why, yes. Yes, it is. Why am I always somehow surprised that I look the way I do? It's as though I keep forgetting that I'm thoroughly unprepossessing, and each picture reminds me anew.
Perhaps it's for the best, though. Realizing that I'm no beauty keeps me from being vain or from obsessing about my appearance. I do the best I can with what I have, and then go about my business.
Every now and then, I do wish I were pretty. I suppose, though, that then I wouldn't be Me.
Poetry Thursday, Remembering Ben
1 week ago