Tag Archives: vain

Cosmetic

Cosmetic: (n) a preparation for beautifying the face, skin, hair, nails, etc.

I have an odd face.

Not odd in the sense of grotesque, but rather unusual.

Though I am a man, I really can’t grow a beard. Matter of fact, I can go many days without shaving before anybody would even call it stubble.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

I don’t have eyebrows. It’s like the plans were drawn for some, but apparently there was some problem with the shipment.

My ears pin back to my head. I know that normally ears are a problem because they stick out, but mine could certainly be a bit more assertive.

My nose is small for such a big face.

And as I’ve grown older, I’m not so concerned with wrinkles as I am with little discolorations—marks that appear, changing my countenance from smooth to sometimes resembling the surface of the moon.

I have two such places. One is in the middle of my left cheek. It appears to be some sort of wart. It is tiny, which makes it even more annoying. Then, near my left eye, I have a very light brown age spot.

I realize this is not of much interest to you. (Matter of fact, I may be writing this sentence to no readership.)

But the point is, I want to take those two tiny mars and use cosmetics to cover them up, so that my face looks like a moon pie instead of the cratered dark side.

It is vain.

It is the last thing I do in the morning—before coming out of my room, I grab a simple cover stick and touch those two parts with coloration until they disappear.

I’m not so sure it makes me look younger—but it does make me feel younger.

Or maybe just immature and childish.


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Bombshell

Bombshell: (n) a very attractive woman.

Sometimes it’s just not enough to attract.Dictionary B

Even though we spend a lot of money and too many hours trying to become more attractive, we also expend equivalent energy insisting that we are loved for something other than our outward appearance.

I guess there’s a great advantage to being ugly–because you know if you attract anyone in your direction, it’s legitimate.

From time to time I think about the life of Marilyn Monroe.

Whatever she truly wanted to achieve, she failed to accomplish, causing her to misuse drugs and end up the victim of an overdose.

What did she want?

She wasn’t totally innocent–in the sense that she certainly did use her sexuality to gain prominence. But once that was acquired, she was stuck with the perception that she was nothing more than a blithe, flighty, unaware female with a good body, tempting every man to prove that he could be her supreme lover.

The smirks, the snickers and the lascivious smiles that trailed her probably exhausted her already-burdened spirit, and made her wish for anonymity.

Or maybe she was just a spoiled brat, who wouldn’t have been happy with anything.

I don’t know.

Does anybody know?

But since human sexuality encompasses such a small amount of space in our lives, to give much effort to blow it out of proportion is tiresomely vain.

Yes, I imagine the true problem of being a bombshell is that you just never know when it’s going to blow up in your face. 

 

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Autobiography

Autobiography: (n) an account of a person’s life written by that person.

Every one of us exaggerates our toleration.dictionary with letter A

In an attempt to come off open-minded, generous or even willing, we put forth the idea that we are much more free in our thinking than we actually are.

This is true of autobiographies.

If I were to be honest, I would have to tell you that any sentence that begins with “I” which does not contain some shape or form of self-deprecation will be viewed by the listener or the reader as vain.

Even “I went to the store” reeks of self-involvement or threatens the inception of a boring tale.

I don’t know how the autobiography got started–because unless you’re confessing your sins, shortcomings or warning others of the dangers of poorly pursued habits, books that begin with “I” always end up feeling like a poke in the eye.

Matter of fact, I have begun to ration the number of times I allow myself to use the words “I” or “me.”

It’s not because I’m noble. It’s because there is no possibility that anyone else will find my “I” storyline nearly as fascinating as I conceived it.

But if you do not write your autobiography, you’re at the mercy of someone in the future who actually finds you interesting enough to pen a biography concerning your life and deeds.

That could be risky. After all, maybe after you’re dead, your rendition of life may not be nearly as interesting as you thought it was. And a neutral party may choose to be a bit more clinical than you.

But still, all in all, it’s much safer to stay away from “I” when it comes to reciting your deeds. Because even though we insist that confidence is a good thing, it really is more like the three wishes from the genie in the bottle:

Choose and use wisely.

 

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