(This is an old topic that’s somewhere in Original TMX: I’ve observed that beautiful girls usually have ugly boyfriends. I think it deserves a revisit, in a special section of “Dear Marocharim” I call, “Dear Girl.” Enjoy.)
It’s not that I’m physically attractive or anything, but I find myself baffled: why, Girl, in all your sexiness and prettiness, would you pair yourself with Guy who looks like he got savagely beaten with the ugly stick? Why, Girl, in all your infinite wisdom and your smartness, would you pair yourself with Guy who is, for all intents and purposes, a two-legged hamster? Why, Girl, in all your vainglorious beauty bedecked with Gucci blouses, Donna Karan jeans and Louis Vuitton handbags studded with Swarovski crystals, do you insist on loving Guy who looks like, well, shit?
I know, I know: you’re beyond being attracted to a man physically. You believe that, like magnetism, opposites attract. You like to think of yourself as someone who values personality more than looks. You are tired of being used as a sex-doll, a romantic trophy, an ornamental girlfriend by some jock from years ago, who apparently turned out to be in more than one gay orgy that involved bubbly foam.
Don’t tell me you haven’t heard… I’ve also heard that they also had a serious homo daisy-chain at the staircase.
No, I’m not jealous: in fact, I pity you. You’re so beautiful, and your man is so ugly, that I can’t even fathom how you two look like having sex. I can’t imagine what your children will look like. What do you see in him? Really: have you actually split his skull in half and saw his brains? Have you performed a triple-bypass surgery on him to see what his heart looks like?
Girl, I’m calling it like I see it: your boyfriend looks like shit. I know you love him and all. I don’t question the fact that you love him, but how could you have loved him anyway? How could you have loved him with that cancer on his cheek that looks like a monkey is growing out of it? How could you have loved him with that nose that looks like a giraffe’s left testicle? How could you have loved him with that eyeball hanging from his left eye socket?
Girl, I’ll never understand you. And I hope against all hopes that I won’t.
P.S.: I think that your boyfriend was behind your jock ex on that daisy-chain in the staircase. And no, I wasn’t there.