The only way to remember the name of a physically unattractive woman is to sleep with her.
It’s a nasty joke best left to an all male company. Biological injustice.
It’s not a waterproof approach, but the prospects of remembering the woman’s name are much brighter once you’ve been inside her.
And Margot is a beautiful name to remember.
The things you said about yourself were painful to hear.
You would sigh and say: “Life is fair for no one, but it’s the least fair for ugly women.”
I hate the word ‘ugly’ and never use it, never even think it.
It’s my feeble attempt at not being superficial.
Margot, you had an obession about your abs. “It’s the one thing I have going for me”, you said.
I couldn’t agree. I don’t care about abs. Abs don’t do ‘it’ for me.
I care about long hair, big eyes and thighs.
And, not as much as I should, but still, I care a great deal about personality.
You had a lot of that going for you, if you hadn’t cut yourself down with every other sentence that sprang from your pitifully pale and thin lips.
But you were fun. You were such fun to hang out with. And you were a babe magnet. A real babe magnet.
We’d go places and you’d be chatting with a ton of good-looking girls in an instant. Maybe you didn’t pose a threat to them, but no, that can’t be it, you were simply that much fun, let’s leave it at that.
And ok, at first I went out with you, primarily for that magnet quality, but seriously, there were soon so many times the best part out of a night out was when we were slumped back in big stuffed sacks used as chairs and talking about anything. You had a sharp, quick-witted mind and you were amazingly well-read.
“Girls like me don’t get asked out between the age of 14 and 20. So I had plenty of time to do a hell of a lot of reading.”
“What happened after 20?”
“I realized the stunning imbecility of waiting around for guys to ask you out to start a social life. I only had two dates in high school. One was with a guy who wanted to figure out if he was gay. He thought he was after our date, but no. He hooked up with the girl next door a week later.”
“And the second?”
“The second really was gay.”
I don’t really know why I waited till then, but I kissed you. Right smack on those near invisible lips, which seemed to have developed attractiveness out of, well, sorry, thin air.
“Is this going to be a pity fuck?”, you asked.
Talk of killing the mood…
“No”, I said, “I really think you’re hot.”
And you really were hot. Not in a beauty magazine kind of way. But who in a right mind cares about those?
I saw it. Right that instant I took in your beauty. And the old rock and roll of attraction found its devious rhythm.
And we could have been great together. We really couldn’t have been something.
If it hadn’t been for streets.
There are a lot of streets in this world.
And couples walk those streets and get stared at.
And I saw your beauty. But the others wouldn’t.
I’ve never deserved a slap more than the one you gave me when you walked out on me.
And the truth is that I miss your unique look. It’s not that you were unattractive, it’s just that you were totally different.
A bit like a sinewy Viking woman with droopy eyes and an albino complexion.
Magically attractive at fifth or sixth glance. But really, magically attractive.
If only there hadn’t been streets.
Ok, you’re welcome to give me another slap now.