Oh l'amour part trois: Destructive Beauty

Don't ask me how, but Leon somehow got my email address.

He sends me brief (but horrifically cloying) emails every once in a while, which I promptly mark as junk. Sometimes, however, curiosity gets the better of me, and I skim through the contents. I've noticed that he never remarks upon anything beyond my beauty as a reason for loving me. That's…disappointing, but not surprising considering our only interaction was in a foreign language class. Taught in a different foreign language.

"Oh Victoria," today's email bemoaned, "you have destroyed me with your beauty."

I read this as I perch in bed, wearing oversized PJ's and using my fingers to scrape out the very last gooey contents of my banana-cacao smoothie from a cup. I slide off the bed and amble into the bathroom to survey my destroying beauty in the mirror. Ooooh yeah. Turns out I got some smoothie on my nose, which doesn't compliment that enormous pimple on my cheek that doggedly refuses to leave me in peace.

WORD.

I couldn't figure it out at first; I kept noticing people staring at me when I walked through the halls at school or down the street. I was constantly checking my reflection to see if there was anything alarming about my appearance. And then the realization dawned on me: oh, all these people staring at me…they're all male. A lot of men here are more direct than those in los estados unidos. But hey, if you want to feel drop-dead gorgeous, come and visit! These guys here will literally stare with gaping mouths as I walk past. Whew.

I find it more disconcerting than flattering to be honked at, ogled at, have people call out, "hola guapa!" as I make my way down the street, eyes fastened on the cobblestones. So tonight, I skim through Leon's emails and apprehensively read about my terrible, destroying beauty, then hit the "junk" button.