I'm Weird (Volume 2893)

I have said before that I care little for appearances: we're all gonna be ugly someday, after all. Very few people believe me when I say things like this; if I stress the point, I doth protest too much. So I'm going to give you a few concrete examples.

Armpit/leg hair. I don't shave my pits or my legs and I don't understand for the life of me why women do, or are all but forced to. My wife does, but certainly not because I've asked her to. It's not that I have a preference for the fabled "gorilla my dreams"...I...just...don't...CARE. One way or the other. It's hair, fer Chrissake. What's the big deal?

High heels. I've only mentioned this is passing, but shortly after I moved in with Eva--that happened on our third date, by the way--I found myself cleaning out a closet one day while she was at work. I came across some high heels. Four or five pairs. I threw them in the trash without stopping to imagine possible reactions or indeed my defences should those reactions come to pass. It was just that they were quite clearly garbage, in exactly the way that sandals, flats and boots aren't. High heels are not shoes. They're torture machines that will utterly wreck your body, from the toes on up.

This probably sounds incredible, but I had literally no idea what high heels were for, i.e., attracting men. They certainly don't attract me. I see a woman in high heels and my first thought is wow, what a masochist. I don't find pain sexy, myself, no offense to those of you who do. It never even occurred to me that 99.999% of women would have flipped their lid at my presumption and arrogance: you don't need these anymore, honeybunny, you've got ME now. Never crossed my mind.

Eva asked me, quite calmly, why I had thrown her shoes out. I told her, quite calmly, that they were absolutely the worst possible things she could wear on her feet and that I didn't want to see her hurt herself. Wonder of wonders, she accepted that...told me later she was grateful for it, in fact.

Makeup. It has its place...I suppose. This falls into the same category as the shaving: I don't wear makeup....why should anyone else? I know women who wouldn't dream of leaving their houses each morning without applying makeup. Because without makeup, people see you as you are. The horror.

Now, if you've got a praying-mantis-shaped birthmark or a winking zit and you're off to the job interview or the soiree, well, I can see the point of a little misdirection subtly applied. But I will contend with my dying breath that most women don't need makeup, the same way most men don't.

You get the picture. I don't care about the picture. I think it's pretty just as it is. In short: I'm weird.