skin deep

In the last 6 months or so a small handful of people of the male species have told me indirectly or more surprisingly, directly that I am not pretty. However the honesty of directness is always refreshing.
First, beauty is totally subjective. And relative. I get it, what is ‘pretty’ to one person may be dreck to another. I sometimes see beauty in grim spectacle and am repulsed by what is widely considered attractive. I’d say who am I to talk but I am the subject in question.
Second, if you judge someone solely on their physical appearance then too bad for you. Maybe I say this as a ‘non-pretty’ person but I like to take in the whole package before I go and cast judgements on how ugly someone is. Sure there’s that initial impression but even then people have an intangible confidence (or lack of) about them that adds to the whole.
Third, I’m 42. I think I’ve held up pretty well. I’m not, never have been and never will be the perfectly made up barbie-type — nor would I want to be. My size works against me but I’m comfortable and average looking. Maybe. I’d rather impress you with my occasional quick wit, generosity and seeming intelligence. Probably because that’s what impresses me.
While most of the opinions expressed by such troglodytes don’t matter, at least one did so I question what it is about me that gives the non-pretty impression.
But even still, maybe it doesn’t matter. I’m not really trying to impress anyone. And God forbid I attract some creepy fetishist who only likes me for how I look.