Dear God, What Is That Thing?

I have never liked my nose.

My parents taught me to be grateful for what I have, so I have always thanked the dear Lord for the ability to breathe and detect smells.  And, it holds up my glasses just fine, thank you very much.  But aside from that, I have never once truly appreciated the schnoz that sits in the middle of my face.

From the front, it looks like my dad's nose; from the side, it resembles my mom's.  All put together, my nose has always had its own issues.  Too pointy, too freckly, too crooked, too long.  You name it, I could find a complaint about it.

In elementary school, I was fascinated by Annie's nose:  short, cute, and just right for her face.  I'd have swapped with her in a heartbeat, but I doubt she wanted a proboscis with two different sized nostrils, never mind the fact that her nose probably would not look right on my face.  But in 6th grade, having a nose you didn't like was a real problem.  And there was nothing I could do about it.

Since that time in my life, I've encountered actual problems, such that my nose really didn't seem to cause me much anguish.  I never thought about it on a daily basis again until Melina came along.  I think the mini-me has my nose.  So far, it looks great on her, but I do wonder if someday, she'll have the same conversations I had to myself

I also wonder if it will take her until she is approaching 39 to look into the mirror and accept herself for who she is.  Better late than never, you know?

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