Purty

*
Pretty is a trait I have always distrusted.

Not hated out of hand, but pretty better have a back-up, or it gains no ground with me. Several of the nurses at work betrayed to me how influenced they were by the pretty-boy scrub who left, using his sick time fraudulently. Even now that his obvious user traits are clear, they sigh over him, and think he was a good scrub 'anyway.' He wasn't, although he talked a good line, but dumped his work on others. Always the charm and smile and oil, but he struck me as shallow, vain, and a hypocrite. One of the anesthesiologists who floated through a few months ago was certain that pretty-boy was on steroids, as he himself had once used them and stopped. PB claims he never used drugs, but I know who I believe. I never bought it, felt none of the attraction, because it never seemed to go beyond his strut. I reacted to him the way I feel about gay men, an instinctive "meh" that meant they had no power over me. Fine if you are, so I'll leave you be. In this case, closeted, which screams a huge hole in his integrity, an absolute repulsion.

My dearest friend from Detroit was, and is, a gorgeous woman. She also has brains and a strong sense of self and humor. Initially intimidated by her looks, that vanished as I got to know who she really was. My beloved Moira is also a classically beautiful, tall, cool, blonde, who also has a wicked sense of humor and boundless capacity for insight and compassion. I dated one very good looking man, who treated me very decently under difficult circumstances. I will always remember him with fondness, although we had no chance to stay together. He was a good guy, though.

Pretty isn't a bad trait, unless it's all there on its own, trying to cover a deficient personality. But beauty is when it goes all the way to the basement, whole and sound.

D is not a typically attractive male, good thing or he wouldn't have been available when we met. He's always attracted me. I'm no one's idea of pretty. But I've been attractive to enough guys that I don't much care. We saw the thorough beauty in each other, the sparkling wit and thoughtful desire. We grow lovely together.

We hate the whole artificiality of Valentine's Day, preferring to simply love each other all days. So we ignore the flowers and balloons, cards and chocolate boxes. (Chocolate on every other day is fine, of course.)

I do miss the reasonably priced flowers available every day at Trader Joe's. Sometimes, we miss Boston so much, wanting to walk through the North End, or Faneuil Hall, take the ferry over to the USS Constitution, or along the Esplanade, or just to Downtown Crossing to be hectored by the Spare Change Guy and poke around Filene's Basement, and take the T back home. Not the work, not the whole situation, not the expensive tiny apartments, but the places to walk. We've always loved walking together. From when we walked around Colorado Springs, and Eskan Village, talking together.


*The sidewalk outside the Boston Latin School.