This one I just want to talk about because it made me happy.
Topic #3: I’m cute.
Apparently. After all the other strangeness last night, amid the drunken revelry and general good craic, two strange women dragged me outside, in order to tell me that I was cute, and looked like a fun sort of person. Subtle, no? I’m not used to this sort of thing happening to me, I have to say.
Understand: I don’t like the way I look. “Cute” is about the last word I would use to describe myself. My little brother got all the “cute” genes in the family – I got the ones that make my brain run at along strange lines and at peculiar speeds, which seems like a pretty fair trade to me.
So I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m probably not a good judge of how I look. And besides, what does it matter to me how I look? I’m not then one that has to look at me. The only impact it might have on me is my confidence. And if I’m not going to give a damn, what have a got to be self-concious about? Yeah, I don’t get folk lusting over me like happens to some of my friends. (Line of the night last night award goes to Joseph, who, when I asked him why he’d show Antony his sketchings and not me, replied “Because he’s cute, and you’re not.”) I don’t give a damn. Apparently, there are people out there that like the way I look. Maybe there aren’t many of them, and maybe they’re not the people I’d like them to be, but I’ll take my compliments where I can get them.
So, for today at least, I’m cute.