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.
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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