Raw Sugar

Will was supposed to come in to get a haircut from me today, but traffic was so bad that I didn’t make it to the Institute on time. I’m so angry at myself  for missing his appointment — he has longish hair, which he cares nothing about, so he’s going to let me do whatever I want with it. I’ve been looking through search engines for different cuts, and I can’t take my eyes off the quiff (top and bottom left) and other fun, similar silhouettes.

Now, this is a cut that will not work at all for Will’s face shape or hair texture, but it’s my favorite men’s cut of all time (echo: of all time!). It’s important for a man to have pleasant, sculptural facial features and a great sense of style if he hopes to pull it off, and if he does pull it off… well, marry me. There is almost nothing I like better than an impeccably dressed man with an amazing haircut.

Funny, because OTGA is neither and I’d run away with him in a heartbeat. He’s handsome, intelligent, funny — but decidedly, statistically average. He will never do anything that will be recorded in textbooks or biographies. He will die, like me, essentially unimportant and an ultimate waste of 13-odd billion years of cosmic coincidence. I admire that he has come to terms with the liberation his position offers. Me, I’m still acclimating to the idea. It’s difficult to wrap my head around the concept that it is okay to be average. I should accept the freedom that comes with mediocrity and embrace the relief that I will be forgotten not long after I’ve done my very last insignificant deed for the very last day.

In part, I guess I have embraced it. Maybe I knew it all along. My impermanence and unimportance have made it possible to engage in an unsatisfying, but ultimately beneficial, relationship with someone. Honestly, I would like to find a different SD. Although I would never, in a right state of mind, describe myself as overweight or even chubby, I’ve lost some weight and am on track to getting more toned. I am well dressed and precisely groomed. I can be very accommodating, and I think I could get along well with an intelligent, established, culturally aware older gentleman. He doesn’t have to be incredibly attractive, just relatively in shape, with a pleasant face and a love for art, music and the like. I would like someone who would take me to museums, who would be interested in letting me dress him and who would tell me about the world. In return, I would be malleable, attentive and in a constant state of beauty. Of course, I would require an allowance, but that should go without saying. I don’t work for free, and it is work, but I don’t mind doing it if I enjoy the task. And I really think that, with the right gentleman, I could genuinely enjoy it.

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