standards and illusions

i have this friend. we go out sometimes. she is a tall buxom blonde with long legs, the standard of beauty in this particular culture (as well as most other cultures). when we go out, she is the one who gets ogled and complimented.

i don't begrudge her this. not at all. in fact i enjoy it when she's complimented and i wish she enjoyed it more. and yet she says it is i, the small dark one with the figure of a prepubescent boy, who has the more desirable habitus. admittedly i am more the ectomorph than she but to a ridiculous, almost cartoon-like degree that is generally not aesthetic.

i find it a lesson in contentment, and i hope we both can be content with whats we gots.

now mildly entertaining to me is the fact that people think i'm taller than i am. i was chatting with someone yesterday, and i mentioned, "so, he's five-foot-six, and...". and my colleague said, "wait, he's shorter than you?" to which i replied, "no. i'm jest five-three or so." which she answered only with, "oh," and a bit of a sheepish look. which makes me think, gosh, do people really think i'm taller than five-foot-six? dwarfy little me?

'sgotta be the shoes. right, thérèse?

and lastly what is ironically funny (to me and probably me only)? my one major publication is in a journal called chest.

hee hee hee.