A self portrait of someone else

This is not the post that's supposed to follow but its still something to read meanwhile. I am working on the other post.

Our story begins in a room. The room isn’t all that great to look at; if I was a rude person I would call it ugly but since I am not I’ll just say it’s a room with good personality. Either way’s it’s a homely looking home. The walls are this weird dyslexic collage of red, orange, green and brown. I don’t particularly like furniture in a small room like mine they tend to be a bit of a hassle and I, like most people don’t like hassles (no not even David hasslehof- ha ha). So all I have in my room is a bed set against the wall.

The problem with having the bed against the wall is you always have to wake up on the same side of the bed and unfortunately for me it turned out that side was the wrong side of the bed. But this particular morning I woke up on the right side of the bed which is basically just an optimistic way of saying I walked into a wall.

So I am only half awake and I bumped my head against a wall; medically speaking “ithurtslikeabitch”. It wasn’t the wall that hurt- you see what I forgot to mention is that I had dug a nail into that wall earlier so I could crucify a picture against it. Unfortunately the nail was still there but the picture wasn’t. [The following is a public service announcement- the heads of nails hurt]

According to my grandma the instant solution to a bleeding scar on the forehead is a mixture of limewater, vinegar, salt and toothpaste. It didn’t work for Harry potter and it wasn’t going to work for me and so I called the grocery to send over some band-aid.

The door bell rang; I opened the door and on the other side of it stood the ugliest woman on earth next to a trolley with a box of band-aid in it. If it’s the inner beauty that counts than I hope her inner beauty was John Nash. This girl was uglier than my room. She had the kind of face you could only make using Michael Jackson’s rejected skin.

She looked tall for her height and too white for her tan. She had obese eyebrows and thin anorexic eyes bulging out of her eye sockets. Her eye lashes were few and far between protecting shading her eyes like a bikini would cover a body. Her nose jutted out of her face. It was the kind of nose only Pinocchio could have if he was an elephant. She had in her hand the band-aid- which she handed to me. I asked her to wait at the door so I could go in and get some money. And then she smiled…

Her face was as contorted as a girl standing on one finger with one leg in her mouth and the other folded backwards along her spinal cord. If her face was a gymnast she would win gold.

I thought to myself I was having a nightmare but I dismissed the notion as it would be too lame an ending. She then said something that changed my life forever. She said

“Notice the stripes”

She then walked out pushing the trolley with her and she sang “I hope the exit is joyful and I hope never to return”. Two minutes later the door bell rang again. It was the grocery guy with a band-aid and a bill.

The woman wasn’t an angel and she wasn’t a ghost. The woman is world renowned; you probably know her. I met her again but that’s a different story. I won’t tell you her name because that too is a different story. I will tell you I did notice the stripes and if you know me you know that I do.

This was how the story began- I’ll tell you where it ends some other time.