it looks good on me
I like my skin.
I know I come here and bitch about this or that, complain about my body and its glorious eye-goo and everything, but I rarely state what I like about myself. I should say more positive things, right?
Yes, indeedly-doodly, pamie![/scripty]
So here it is. I like my skin. If I had to pick a favorite body part it would be that. I’ve been really lucky to have nice skin. It’s got a few scars, but those are quickly overlooked at one touch. I’ve had facial people call over their facial friends to ooh and awe over my pores. They are that small, I guess.
I didn’t even know that I had “good skin” as they call it until high school when I would watch my best friend cover her face with a powder-foundation-powder combo that left her face a different color than her neck. I asked why she did this and she said, “We don’t all start out looking like your face.” I rarely wear make-up, because whenever I do someone comments on it. “Ooh! We’re wearing lipstick today!” Always with the “we’s.”
I realize it’s because those women don’t want me drawing attention to my skin. They have skillfully drawn attention to their good features with rouge and simple lines and tattoos, and here I am walking around with that skin.
Eric also has really good skin. He’s very soft. We’re the softest people I know. Sometimes when we rub up against each other, Aaron Neville begins crooning about cotton. It’s that soft. My friend Jennifer thought I was just bragging until I moved my face closer for her to touch it. She put the back of her hand to my cheek and squealed, “She’s like a bunny! How can one person be so soft?”
I’m not trying to brag, but sometimes when people touch my skin, they feel better. I’m like the Mother Teresa of epidermis.
My mother says quite often she’s glad I got my father’s skin. I also got my father’s eyes, which explains this weird yellow goo I’ve got. I took a picture of the goo, but it came out way too well for me to post here. I saw it and was like, “I’m too nasty. I can’t let anyone see this.”
And I bruise really easily. I bumped against the bedpost last night. Purple spot there today. After every show I do my knees are all busted up. One boy in particular would see just how lightly he could touch me on the arm and still cause a bruise the next day. I also remember a bizarre two week period where he would bite my wrist really hard to see how long I would carry a bruise. Man, high school is weird.
So, there. There I go. I’ve said one thing nice about myself. I guess I tend to overlook what I like about me since I’m constantly working on improving the things that bother me. Like the middle child with good grades and good behavior that goes overlooked, my skin has just been sitting there not getting into trouble and feeling like I never give it any attention.
So tonight while I watch bad television for cash, I think I’ll give myself a mask.