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You know? I am not a vain person. That is the point of the story, that I am reflective of some sort of neo-tomboy trend, a rising class of women who have tempered and quelled and repressed those instincts for so many years now that the prophecy has been fulfilled, and really, you know? I just don't care. When it comes to prettyness, I try to live off the grid, is how I like to say it, and even on those rare occasions when I am tilting my face to the left so as to minimize the chance that the magnitude of my nose will overwhelm my face into something you might imagine inspired the whole Surrealist movement, it is always a goal of mine, to eschew the pursuit of beauty because, you know, it is just so very ephemeral, in stark contrast to this blog post, ha ha ha ha ha. But anyway, that notion is, after all, why I did not protest when you dragged me up to the roof, where the wind would whip my already, let's face it, stringy and unruly and overgrown mop of hair around to the point of homelessness, or when you decided to crouch down close to the ground when you shot me, which everyone knows is the least flattering angle known to humankind. More »
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