last night yet another person told me she thought i was older than i am. i should have been insulted or horrified and depressed but 1) i was drunk and 2) the speaker was a raspy-voiced leather-faced woman of the type you would not want to insult in a bar for fear of getting kicked in the face, so i figure her estimation of my beauty and its corollaries is warped by what must be a deep seated resentment towards the more attractive of the species.
on the other hand i am now sober and i say: what the fuck? do i look like shit? why doesn't anyone tell me this? when you see me, do you puke a little in your mouth? do you gaze with horror at my ashen furrowed brow? do you mournfully shake your head at my dilapidated visage and saggy bosoms? do you shiver at the sight of my rachitic frame and befuddled pre-senile mind? does my graying hair worry you?
if that's the case, why the living fucknuts have you not said anything? told me to get more sleep, lay off the booze, quit haunting the docks looking for young sailor-boys to warm my withered flesh? huh? cause i would have done that for you.
so now i have had two honest if mistaken and rather painful assesments of my age delivered to me by 1) a religious proselytizer with multiple children, seriously bad hair and a truly deplorable moral compass (i'll tell you about her bunny-adoption idea some time!) and
2) a frightening hatchet-faced big mouth biker bitch. perhaps i am not doing too badly after all.
still: i am open for comments (built-in amnesty for everyone who manages to tell me nicely that i look like shit)