The other evening, I was eating dinner at a local restaurant, minding my own business...laughing with my daughter over stories of her day, watching my son fill his plate at the buffet...when a woman walked up to the table.
I had never seen this woman before in my life, but she approached me and started asking questions about my skin.
"I know this is odd and I hate to bother you but...is that dermatitis?" She asked me, pointing to my chest and left cheek at the skin discoloration there. "I only ask because I noticed it from across the room...
{gee, thanks for reminding me how noticeable my imperfections are, you bitch}
...and my grandson has something that looks a bit like that. We've been thinking it might be dermatitis."
I was speechless. I seriously didn't know what to say. And, for those of you who know me, you know that doesn't happen often. My daughter and I looked at each other, wide-eyed.
After stammering for a moment, I explained to her that the discoloration had been there since my birth...that it was a condition caused by my father's exposure to Agent Orange during his stint in Vietnam.
The woman apologized, saying that she hoped she hadn't embarrassed me. I assured her that she hadn't...that I was used to it...that I'd spent 33 years living with this condition.
In short, I lied.
Oh, I have spent 33 years living with it, so I SHOULD be used to it. It shouldn't bother me at all.
But it did.
A stranger had approached me just to talk about the thing that's always made me feel...well...ugly.
When I was a kid, I was picked on and called names. I was the chubby girl with the birthmarks all over her body. It was inevitable. I took to wearing my hair down and strategic makeup to cover my cheek and never wearing clothing that revealed my upper chest. I hid my imperfections from the world. I grew up.
And no one likes having their imperfections pointed out to them like that, especially not when they were just trying to enjoy a nice family dinner.
This episode made me think about something...
I spend the largest portion of my life feeling ugly. This is the only place where I don't feel that way. I don't have to cower behind clothes or a mask of hair. I come here and people tell me how lovely I am. I post these photos, taken from angles that mostly hide the discoloration on my left cheek and the one on my chest, and people tell me I'm beautiful.
It's nice to hear sometimes.
