Myface
I am trying out Internet dating right now. I have always had trouble with relationships. Possessing at age-three, a preternatural sense that I would one day be described as a “chore of a woman”, I began to calculate my assets alongside my liabilities. Now I am repeating this process on-line.
Do I have the perfect, yet imperfect smile? Do I present myself as natural and unpretentious, without letting myself go? And worst of all, am I too twisted and incomprehensible to be in a real relationship with any sane human being? This has always been my biggest fear. I grew up believing that I was a twisted and hideous freak. In fact, a classmate of mine inadvertently validated my own anxiety on this subject in fourth grade. We were sitting across from each other, and she picked up a piece of tape. With the coldness and confidence of the receptionist at an inner-city AIDS clinic, she said, “This is my life, smooth and perfect.” She unblinkingly stared at me, and without pause wrinkled up the tape and continued, “This is your life, a mess.” I wasn’t sure why she was saying this to me. It never occurred to me that any ten-year-old, who seethed with such intensity, might not be so together herself. At the time it seemed very meaningful that she was speaking to me and me alone.
