"There was 2 girls on the bus to Macy's one day. The bus hit a truck. They both died in the crash. Once in hell (and a bit annoyed to be there) they asked the Satan
"How do we get out of here, Mr.Lord of Darkness?!?"
Satan realized that they were not really evil enough for hell so he said "Well okay chicas you can blow this joint if you shake hands with the ugliest thing imaginable."
So, one girl went and shook the hand of this ugly THING, but she did not get out of hell. Frustrated, she went to find her friend. Her friend was shaking hands with a small, cute, little bunny
"what you doing?!” said the girl to her friend “That’s not ugly!"
Her friends looked up but then the sweet little bunny spoke instead.
"She's not shaking my hand . . . I'm shaking hers! ...I wanna get outa’ here too!"
What is it like to be
ugly? I think everyone
feels ugly some of the time, but what if you are
ugly looking all of the time? Sometimes I’ll see a really
ugly person, with a
deformed face or
burns over half their body. I know it’s wrong but I cringe. I don’t think I could spend every day around a person with half a face. I don’t think I could
fall in love with a person whose looks frightened me. From
what I was taught in school I’m supposed to see the
beauty inside…but instead I wait for the person to leave and breathe a sigh of relief. I think most people do this. I try to fight it but it is too
ingrained in me.
I can’t help but think about the impact my
appearance has on every interaction I have with people. I wonder if I would have been more
popular or given more opportunities, or just felt better about myself if I was better looking. I wonder if I would have been more resourceful, perhaps more
depressed, or even more
bitter if I looked less normal.
Some of the time I’m able to not care about my
looks. It’s not that I think I look good—but
I just like being me, I like my
uniqueness my face is like a stamp, no one else has it,
I own it.
I don’t know why I get so down on myself some of the time. But often it has to do with
rejection, or thinking about what I might be
missing out on in life. It also comes from a sense that
the things I have always dreamed of may never come true.
When I was
16 years old I went to the
doctor’s office. I was about
4’11” then, the doctor asked me how I felt about my
height. I said that I didn’t like
being short but I knew I’d still grow. The doctor asked how much I thought I’d grow. I said “oh about a foot” –then the doctor and my mother just
burst out laughing. I wanted to cry (I did in the car on the way home and all that night.) It had never once occurred to me that I would always be short, (or ugly)
When I realized that I was ugly I got rid of all of the
pretty things I owned. I didn’t want to be a
ugly girl in an
pretty dress—I had the sense that people just laughed at me when they discovered that I thought of my self as a
princess, that
I thought I was pretty or
likeable, that I thought
I’d grow to be 6 feet tall.
Why
add insult to injury? Why
make a fool of myself? I threw away everything that I owned that was pretty. I changed to black jeans and plain blue button down shirt and boots. I did the best I could not suggest any
expectation on my part that anyone who met me should see a
princess.
But
dreams never die. Mine are
strangling me, vivid as ever.