Sergei Through The Looking Glass

Terrible haircut. Looks like I cut it myself with a pair of blunt scissors, when slightly inebriated. Fading tan, left over from a two-week holiday in the rain, in a caravan. Left eyebrow slightly raised due to piratical scar gained free and gratis from a car accident a few years ago. One eye slightly higher than the other. My mother used to call me Isiaah, and I never understood that until I held a ruler horizontally up to my face. Marginal double-chin, gained through mid-thirties pigging on chocolate. I'm working on it all, though I can't afford plastic surgery yet. Perhaps that blunt pair of scissors might come in handy.
It all seems so trivial when one writes about it, but I know I'm not alone. Everyone has some things they hate about themselves, and that list contains mine.

It was all put into perspective today however, when I visited my local Accident & Emergency Dept for a badly twisted ankle.

There were people with learning difficulties; someone had burnt their eyebrows off in a cooking accident; someone else with a severe eye injury sustained from a glass shard; one lady with a prosthetic arm; toddlers with encephalopathic heads. It was, for want of a better term, a real eye-opener.

I'm thankful for what I've got, skew-wiff or not. I looked in the mirror again when I got home. I could see a modern spikey haircut, a good bit of colour in my cheeks, an eyebrow I can raise just like Roger Moore, brown eyes - slightly passionate if you like, and if I look up slightly, a chin without a single wrinkle or crease.

Everyone should have a day like I had today. Busted ankle notwithstanding.

Sergei.