nondescript appeal

you've got charm, kid.













the kind thats kinda drippy and obviously pretty.

not the cool cat slinky hipped dancing under streetlights kind,
nor the beatnik hipster jaded blase and ready for the world,
not big-eyed innocent with a ribbon round her hair gingham bloomers growing flowers
not the Katherine Hepburn have-all-the-lines cant-be-one-upped i've-got-you confidence
nor the Queen alabaster skinned with back ramrod straight melting voice of another world
not throaty smoky full lipped buxom beauty just the touch of helplessness to frenzy men
not even the homegrown earth under the fingernails callused tanned hardworking honest as the open sky kind

none of the worldly, exciting, quirky or lovable picture perfections you've always dreamed about. no, you've got the charm of a straight up smile,
easy to be teased,
laugh at all their jokes,
clear-eyed and even-toothed,
a touch of a flirt
and
just plain nice


and that's all.

and the boys come flocking

assessment one

I'm staring at myself in a mirror. Wild hair. Dark Eyes. One long feathered earring. Sloping lips. Two oversized red spots that were supposed to be zits but forgot their purpose and froze in the oversized red spot stage. Narrow neck.

I am skinny. So skinny.

And yet I am wanted. So very wanted. I think its my smile. Apparently, my smile is irresistible. It has all the good girl charm with just a skilled touch of "i completely have the upper hand" that makes guys want to protest it.

I am skinny. So skinny.

And I'm staring at myself in a mirror and all i can see are the almost-zits and the sheen of sweat on the apples of my cheeks. Its hot. I feel unlovely. But this feather dangling at my jawline seems so confident I'm stunning that I almost want to believe it. Well, the feather and the cat calls and compliments of the opposite sex.

I have ignored three calls today. Three "friendly calls" of "whatchya doin?" but I know what they really meant.

Why am I chased? Is it every girl? Is every girl hounded by the constant attention of hungry wolves growling to be fed, or do I just look like a particularly fragile lamb?

I tilt my head in different angles and find the most flattering ones. I'd say I was pretty. But men seem to think I'm gorgeous. I don't feel gorgeous.
I feel skinny. Really skinny.




But not skinny enough to invite one of those wolves over to lie me into believing their point of view.

I will stay alone tonight, and let my feathered earring do the convincing.