She wrapped her body in spandex, as if she were some 40+, post maternal, pressurized Holiday Surprise.
Her misformed, self manipulated, and compressed figure; although notable still couldn’t overshadow her smile, confidence, and simple charm.
As I listened to her talk I was reminded of a gurgling brook, and couldn’t help but wonder at the burden this woman carried regarding her appearance.
At 50+ I rarely considered my own personal appearance. My barrel chest had collapsed and now rested comfortably on my stretch marked, hairy, and sagging stomach. My balding head and grey beard were something I never even considered. I was comfortable with the changes and assumed the world was too.
I was amused at the paradoxical situation.
Hey vanity and physical manipulation obviously testified to her insecurities regarding her physical appearance and sexiness, and my fear was simply dieing alone without ever being significant in the lives of another again.
I wanted to share ice cream with her or have her sit naked in the bathroom and talk to me while I took my bath.