My Appearance

For a comparatively small girl, I have unusually large facial features. I would say that my head and face are normal sized as a whole, but the individual components that create my face are somewhat bloated. Some of the playground bullying types might say I have bug eyes, a caterpillar uni-brow, a Jew nose and DSLs. I have incredibly small breasts but I’m most self-conscience about my abnormally large labia. When viewed from the top, my vagina is the spitting image of Gonzo from the Muppets.

My jaw pops when I chew, but that in no way affects my love of eating, although I am slightly underweight with a BMI of 17. I have long chee-toes attached to a size 7 foot and a size 6 ½ foot, both of which look too small to support my narrow 5’6,” 108lb frame. When I was a sophomore in high school, I bought Vicodin from a kid in my art class after he broke his arm. He described my lanky flanges as “finger toes”. On my larger foot, my two smallest toes are slightly droopy, thanks to a freak accident with an X-acto knife during my wasted years as an architecture undergrad that resulted in nine stiches, a severed tendon and permanent nerve damage. The purple keloid that refuses to fade away serves as a constant reminder of the mistake of my bachelor’s degree, and when the pressure of my shoe causes the area around the scar to tingle, I relive the unnecessary brutality of those four long years.

The narrowness of my boyish figure concerns me when I consider giving birth. I’m not sure my pelvis is quite wide enough to pass a kidney stone through my urethra, let alone the apple of my eye through my birth canal. I can’t help but worry about the possibility of needing a C-Section, and the last thing I need is another scar.
I had an identity crisis a few months ago when I looked in the mirror and my eyes looked blue. My entire life I thought I had brown eyes. Upon further inspection, I discovered that my eyes were every color except brown. Blue, green and yellow, all rolled into one 20/500 eye and one 20/550 eye, each with moderate astigmatism. I’m not sure if my eyes changed or if my perception of them changed, but it made me wonder what else don’t know I know about myself, which worsened my quarter-life crisis.

I have sort of a hairy stomach and poorly planned tan lines. I have freckles in the summer and porcelain white skin in the winter. I wear the same jeans every day and no pants at all when I’m at home. I usually wear black or blue, but I recently discovered that Hunter Green is my color. It doesn’t have to be Hunter Green, but my first straight boyfriend’s name was Hunt, and I like saying his name sometimes. Years after we broke up he turned out to be an overly confident failed womanizer with no game who tried to pass off a Brillo pad as a healthy head of hair. Despite all of this, the facts remain: my eyes pop in green and first boyfriends are hard to shake.

All boyfriends are hard to let go of, really. Probably because they’re the ones who weren’t worried about the size of your eyebrows, boobs, labia or feet, and they knew the color of your eyes even when you didn’t. To a good boyfriend, scars don’t matter as much as the wounds that caused them, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with DSLs. The great thing about the male brain is that boobs are boobs, and as long they can be motor boated, they can be loved.