When I was in elementary school, ugly was usually a term describing my rude behavior towards my elder aunt who smelled like old fur. When I was a teen, it was a word that described the girls who would not date me, which was most of the girls in high school. In my late twenties, it was reserved for certain women I encountered in social bars….until I had my ninth beer, at which time they all miraculously turned into prom queens for the rest of the night. Then, once I was married and in my forties, ugly people were who ever Wifey designated as crude, skanky or less than a size 9. I also observed that those wandering lost in their fifties, and on the abyss of ugliness, sometimes found themselves standing in line for a Botox fix to prevent their faces from melting down their necks like a cheap Christmas candle.
In the wilderness of my sixties, ugly has taken on an entirely different dimension. It now ranges from cute to self-regurgitation. No matter how ugly a new born may appear to the world of optometrist, it’s still as cute as a bug’s butt. Today’s children usually don’t acquire facial torment until they plunge into their adolescent years and start wearing facial ornaments that look like they came from their dad’s toolbox. After being married as long as I have, I can no longer see the faults, disruptions and genetic flaws of my dear wife and beneficiary. She looks as beautiful and vibrant as the night I first met her in “Snooky’s” bar. So….I now gauge ugly and beauty against the example set by my Aphrodite wife. Yep, everything is beautiful now.