Perfection? Never

I saw a picture of a guy on a blog I follow the other day. Sun-bronzed face, icy blue eyes, intense gaze and carefully mussed hair. All the comments on the blog were drooling over the guy. And I was like... eh. I tried to puzzle out why.

I don't know if it's the eyebrows or the shape of his jaw, but I need to have a face softened by something imperfect- perfection scares me too much. Scars indicate a life lived, risks taken, mistakes made... and I like any person I know to have a bit of wear on them. Just like a favorite pair of jeans or a family heirloom, it's all the more precious for the scars (and the stories that come with them). It shows an object or a person can withstand the test of time. For me, that's sexy, and more so than that, attractive.

My best friend, S, I think is one of the most beautiful people I've ever known, and she's far from perfect. But it's the way she carries herself- the bounce of her curly hair, the flash of swimmer's leg (long and sleek) the way she flaunts her personality- instead of her body. She glows with her sense of self- and people, children pick up on it. It's really hard not to love her if you're any type of self assured person. If you aren't very self-assured, then it's really easy to get intimidated by her because she's so comfortable in her own skin.

There are lots of people I know who are like that in my life (I tend to gravitate toward them since I'm not very happy around people who are unhappy- and people who are happy tend to be people who are comfortable in their own skins)

So give me a chair with scars from boots and teething children. Give me friends who are less than perfect. And let me create a life, a home and a sense of self filled with scars, stories and imperfections.