Charming

Charming: (adj) pleasant or attractive.

Mr. Webster, please make up your mind.

Is it pleasant, or attractive? Truthfully, the two rarely run races together.

Those who are attractive don’t necessarily feel the need to be pleasant. The absence of pimples and the presence of dimples grants them
license to be just as snooty as they deem necessary.

And those who are not attractive often don the apparel of “pleasant,” to clothe themselves in a righteousness that should be suitable for the runway of life.

So which is it?

I suppose there might be a tiny handful of humans who are attractive and pleasant–which enables them to go into a bar and get a date without buying her a drink.

So I disagree that charming has anything to do with pleasant or attractive. Charming is just damn smart. It’s the realization that not everyone will find you attractive, no matter how much you primp, and being pleasant may be suspicious rather than advantageous.

My definition for charming is finding a way to be sensitive to the moment.

Weep with those who are weeping, rejoice with those who are rejoicing. And stop thinking that God has voted you to be in charge of all moods.

If you are able to sensitize yourself to the situations around you, granting a bit of grace to the emotions that crop up, you will bear fruit in the human family.

 

 

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Buff

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Buff: (adj) being in good physical shape with fine muscle tone.

Although I agree that sexual purity is a noble state, sexual deprivation more resembles North Dakota.

What I mean is, as we try to avoid promiscuity, we need to consider the fact that all of us require some sensation Dictionary Bof being attractive.

I was kind of born fat.

I know that sounds like a cop-out, and it probably is–but since I was twelve-and-a-half pounds when I popped out of my mother, and three hundred pounds by the time I reached the 7th grade, it is safe to say there were not many intervals of “lean” in between.

So even though I worked on a good personality, a generous spirit and nourishing my talent, I have traveled the Earth with what appears to be a spare belly. I don’t know what it would ever be used for–it just seems to take up space, unexplained.

Recently, one of my dear friends, who happens to be female, told me that another friend saw me about twenty years back, when I was deeply absorbed, or perhaps even possessed, in the notion of exercise, and described me as “buff.”

I almost wet my pants.

The notion of me being buff, or considered buff, or even curiously perceived buff by a near-sighted man, gave me an uncontrollable tingle down my spine.

For a moment, I felt alluring, without feeling the need to allure.

I was appealing, without needing to pursue pleasant dialogue which might make me seem interesting.

There is an old saying that we are “fearfully and wonderfully made.” If by that the writer intended to express that we are crazy and bonkers, then I agree.

But if we don’t feel presentable, we don’t feel happy.

And if we don’t feel happy, we try to make other people’s lives miserable.

And once miserable, they will certainly find us even more unappealing.

 

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Bracelet

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Bracelet: (n) an ornamental band or chain worn on the wrist or arm

I have never been satisfied with my appearance, yet oddly, I have never been dissatisfied.

I have always landed in the “midlands” of being curious about improving my package.Dictionary B

This has caused me to do many interesting things.

When I was much younger I grew my hair out very long. I did it because I thought it made me look cool–and I could. Another wonderful byproduct of having flowing locks was that it seemed to make older folks really pissy.

For awhile I wore jewelry around my neck. I liked the way it flew around when I was walking fast, and it popped and bounced against my pecs, making me feel macho (since I left two buttons unfastened at the top of my shirt).

But most of all, I made a decision to wear an ID bracelet. I forget who purchased it–obviously someone who could afford the adornment, promising that it was gold plated. It is possible that it was, but whatever gold was on my ID bracelet quickly headed for “them thar hills.”

I was left with a two-tone piece of metal dangling from my arm, causing my skin to turn green.

I didn’t care. I continued to wear it because I believed it made me look more attractive.

Then one day I was sitting on a bench and a young lady moved to sit down next to me, and pulled back in horror, exclaiming, “Ooh! Your arm is green!”

She decided to seek a perch elsewhere.

So I scrubbed my arm and returned it to its former beige condition, and stopped wearing my bracelet–reluctantly. I did not feel nearly as appealing.

I realized that I was trusting my two-tone, green-spreading-on-your-skin piece of jewelry to be the spokesman …  for my true beauty.

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Blare

Blare: (v) to make a loud, harsh sound.

Dictionary B

I met Sammy at a music festival.

She was unusual, and not just because her name was Sammy. She was flamboyant, but in that way that was pleasing and attractive.

She had great energy.

She was talented.

She was conversational.

Yet she found herself desperate for human contact. No one wanted to be around Sammy because when she spoke, she was so loud.

The word “brash” was associated with her, and of course, lots of folks accused her of “blaring.”

There are times that even I grew weary of her voluminous responses, wishing she would tone down. After a while, the sound was so intense that my ears had to slow down the flow so my brain could understand.

But I persisted because she was well worth the effort.

Sammy invited me over to a family gathering.

I arrived at the small, two-bedroom house, which was completely encompassed with at least 25 people.

They were all loud.

Matter of fact, they made Sammy appear to be the timid mouse. I realized that she had learned to project her voice just to be heard in this environment and not be left out at dinnertime from the baked potato distribution.

It was such a great lesson for me.

Now, when I run across people who blare at me, I realize that they’re possibly frightened that nobody will hear them without the implementation of multiple decibels.

Life is not as complicated as we make it out to be. Everyone who gains our disapproval has a story–a tale which needs to be understood.

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Bermuda Shorts

Bermuda shorts: (n) casual knee-length short trousers.

Dictionary B

For the sake of lingering pieces of vanity, I would like to say that I am completely unfamiliar with Bermuda shorts, but unfortunately, I was around when they hit the shores from Bermuda, and shortly thereafter, basically disappeared.

Let me tell you something about fashion: fashion is the latest trend available to those who basically look good in anything.

If you have a bulge here and there, misshapen space or a cluttered cloister, you are very unlikely to ever be comfortable or attractive in the latest threads.

Such it was with Bermuda shorts.

They were knee-length, usually had some sort of odd print on them, and they left the rest of your leg exposed.

When I tried them on, it appeared that some sausage had seeped out of the bottom of its casing.

Not to mention the fact that no matter how tall you may be, when you are chubby you appear shorter. Bermuda shorts helped to accentuate this dwarfism.

I didn’t wear them a second time.

Matter of fact, I might have been one of the souls instrumental … in mocking them off the fashion runway.

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Beefcake

Beefcake: (n) an attractive man with well-developed muscles.Dictionary B

On those rare occasions when I find myself naked, I always avert my eyes from looking in the mirror.

Matter of fact, I’m a little reluctant to share that thought, because there are individuals who would consider my decision to not view my body as a negative or a sign of insecurity.

Honestly, I just find it smart.

There are only two things that can happen when you look in the mirror: some form of disgust, or an intruding pride.

In both cases, there is little benefit.

If I think I’m ugly, confirming that by my reflection is not helpful to the self-confidence required for me to survive a normal day.

Then again, if I peer into the mirror and believe myself to be beautiful–a beefcake–then an obnoxious pride will make me ill-suited to interact with those who may not completely agree with my assessment.

I also have known many women over the years, and will tell you that they are the most gentle, forgiving and open-minded beings on Earth concerning the physical weaknesses of the men who have come into their space. I suppose there are ladies who want to peer at men’s bodies with a lascivious leer, but women often close their eyes, allowing their imaginations to fill in the blanks to stimulate adequate lust for a great sexual encounter.

I am not a beefcake.

I am not willing to do what is necessary to become a beefcake.

So I am looking for friends and women … who have a sweet tooth for a cream puff.

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Became

Became: (v) past tense of begin to beDictionary B

5:52 A. M.

Groggy, but awake.

In no particular hurry to start the day nor motivated to grab my pillow and embrace additional slumber.

So I think.

I think about what I became.

Because if we don’t stop every once in a while and review the journey, we will fail to acknowledge the value of the miles.

There was never anything special about me. Growing up in a very small town, quality was measured in tiny increments so as to give everybody a chance to be honored.

But especially when I found myself moving into larger villages and then cities, my talent was often weighed in the balances and found wanting.

At that point I had a choice: I could give up, or I could give out.

Giving up was finding a perch suitably small enough to make my offering seem valuable.

Giving out, on the other hand, was admitting lack and trying to find how much grit and mortar I had inside, to build a better possibility.

On those mornings when I awake early, without need of leaping into action, I like to look at what I became:

  • Overweight
  • Under-educated
  • Moderately attractive
  • And sufficiently disguised

Still, I have mustered a life complete with family, fundamentals and a future.

It’s pretty remarkable.

So if any young person would ask me what the key is to success, I would reply very simply, “Stop looking for it. Start doing a daily evaluation … and celebrate what you became.”

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