I don't think about my looks very often - I'm a guy, and we're trained from birth to let the womenfolk worry about that stuff. But for as long as I can remember, when I have thought about my looks, the thoughts have been negative. I'm a fat guy, and I don't like it. But I've been losing weight recently, and I happened to pass a mirror the other day, and thought, "Y'know, Cheech, you're not the worst looking guy out there. And that reminded me of something that happened ages ago.
My wife and I - though this happened before we were married, I believe - were riding the SF Muni, specifically the J Church line, inbound toward the city, after running errands or something. Pretty full streetcar, some standers, all seats occupied. I was in the aisle seat of a 2-seat bench, next to my wife. As people board and debark, there is necessarily a lot of jostling in the aisle - the sheer volume of humanity made it unavoidable. I was reading a book or magazine, trying to just chill out and enjoy the ride.
I remember it was at the Dolores Park stop. During the rush of people to get off the train, my hand and reading material were suddenly kind of manhandled and knocked around, way more than necessary. "What the fuck, man?" is what I said out loud, I'm pretty sure. I tried to see who had knocked into me, but he/she/it was gone, out the door, I never even saw them. A second later, I notice that a piece of paper had been shoved into my hand. I've committed the message to memory:
"Hi There!
I really like redheads and "YOUR TYPE!" Call me!
Shephan 415-123-4567"
I don't remember the phone number, but the words are verbatim. At the time, I looked very much like this, so I assume that "YOUR TYPE" meant "fat."
It brightens my day a little to think that, no matter how ugly I think I am, someone out there is home alone, beating off, wishing they had someone just like me.
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