My late mother was fond of saying she must come to terms with having lost most of her classic beauty. Yet even on my last visit with her, at age 78 she was still turning heads. I have enjoyed a fair amount of continuing interest even at 62, but as of last Thursday night that quickly changed. I am generating interest, but of a different kind.
I can read the stares. 'Who beat her?' 'What's wrong with this woman?!' Sometimes, I am wearing my mask so people cannot see my broken nose or most of the huge purple bruise from the eye socket down to the nose. I have never enjoyed mask-wearing more than I do now.
Sometimes I talk about it. Other times I address questions, such as the boy who asked his mom, "Why is that lady wearing a Band-aid on her nose?" I turned and told him. I have also offered the story when I see The Stare because I want to offset their impression. Other times, I have seen this as an interesting social experiment. Far more interesting than the night I slammed face first onto the pavement outside Walmart in West Haven, spewing blood from what seemed like a broken skull (thankfully not).
Life has a sense of humor because earlier in the day, I'd swung by Kohl's, where I used to work, and my ex-boss said I looked really good! "You have a tan." I thanked her. Then I went to try on clothes (see photo) and thought,'Yeah, I look ok for my age.' I take another turn around the sun on August 19, and I think I could pass for 50. Does that make me somehow better? More likeable? More loveable? And what does this smashed nose and gruesome bruise do to my lovability? I haven't lost my sense of humor. I've enjoyed chatting up guys especially, who all seem to be experts on broken noses and fights, because they want me to say "I was in a fight!" Laugh laugh laugh.
Something tells me my real beauty will shine through even more, as this has made me more sympathetic to anyone who has suffered facial disfigurement, whether it is from Bell's Palsy or burns.
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