Shallow John
It occurred to me this morning that vampires have an advantage over me: mirrors do not reflect their images.
Yesterday while playing with my new computer, I found the computer's built-in camera.
There I was looking back at me from the screen. Holy moly!
I was more than a little shocked by the old guy staring back.
Look, I was never a handsome dude, but this is ridiculous---wrinkles and puffiness and cancerous spots.
If the role of the hunchback of Notre Dame comes up, I'm your…man?
I realized some months ago that I had unconsciously been avoiding mirrors. At first I attributed this to the fact that I don't see well. Nope, I see well enough not to take a good look at myself.
I still get out in public. Mostly I just wait in the car while Linda runs her errands at Wal-Mart or HEB or a garage sale. I don't remain in the car because of my appearance: breathing problems limit my mobility. Boy, is that an understatement.
Once a week, we go to our favorite restaurant. Before leaving the house, Linda and I apply several band aides to my bruises and cancers. That makes me a little more normal looking than Quasi Moto.
Obviously I would prefer not to look like a swamp monster, but being that I was never very pretty as a youth, it's not really a shock to my nervous system that it has gotten worse.
I wonder how well handsome and pretty folks adjust to their declining appearances. I suspect most of them do just fine: they're probably not as shallow as I am.
enough