I saw them last night at a concert. They were cheesily, unashamedly, can't-look-away, why-don't-they-get-a-room, in love and they were quite possibly the ugliest couple on the planet. Her nose was so big it seemed to pull her upper lip away from her teeth. He hair was shocking and curly. Not that sexy, Andie MacDowell-from-the-80s curly either. This was finger in a light socket curly and pulled back in a tight pony tail behind her head so it formed a sort of frizzy fallen halo around her like byzantine art. When she spoke she had an obvious speech impediment. Maybe it was her nose.
He was no catch either. His afro-like reddish blonde hair seemed dirty and sweaty like the rest of him. His fat seemed to hang to somewhere around his thighs. He was wearing a generic rock groupie T-shirt from a group I didn't recognize. His oily face was peppered with light freckles that just didn't seem to go with his joke of a "bad boy" image from the neck down. He had a slouch and a smile that creeped me out. Like if I had a daughter, I'd never let her out of the house because of his smile. But these two were in love.
They couldn't have been more than 17.
There was an equally unattractive parent gushing about a "promise ring" that had been presented the night before. These two had found each other. What were the odds? These two equally ugly people finding each other in this crazy mixed up world fixated on appearance. Putting aside the idea that they were most likely minors, there was no way these two young people weren't doin' it and doin' it with regularity. Mom seemed to think it was awesome. These two "finding" each other. I was kind of grossed out.
So we walked back to our car. Me in my high-heels, matching purse, dress pants and dressy top. I thought about my sun-kissed blond hair that curled so nice in the night's humidity. I looked at the profile of my husband. His temples beginning to gray and the confidence it must take to accept that receding hairline.
I think we are a nice looking couple. We were handsome in our 20s and 30s. Now we have a luxurious maturity and comortableness about us that might make other young people want to be like us "some day". But I don't know what it feels like to love "in spite of".
To love in spite of body flaws or odor. A nose that makes people point or hair that encourages pity. To love someone with a concert t-shirt wardrobe and a short attention span. I decided on the way home, that to love in spite of these things would surely mean you were undeniably in love.
No comments:
Post a Comment