I’m the Uglier BFF, and I Think I Know Why
The signs are present.
I know what you’re thinking — how ugly is this guy? Properly hideous? Mildly unattractive? All fair questions.
Let’s operate on “beauty is in the eye of the beholder” logic for a Medium minute. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but I want you to see things through my perspective — not the clear, icy lens of a camera console.
Let’s muddle through this, relying on the facts.
The Kissing
Me and my buddy (let’s call him “M”) walk. It’s our thing. There’s this big strip of pavement along the top of Redondo Beach, and we like to move in companionable silence, taking in the salty morning air. It’s peaceful — was peaceful. Until the goddamn kissing started. I noticed it right away, of course. Impossible not to, close as M and I are. Out of the blue, another couple of pals stop and stare at him. So my buddy M sees them staring and — flirt that he is — engages. Totally platonic.
Until WHAM — he starts kissing them. And they encourage it. Tongue and everything. Smack-dab on the center pavement. Boys and girls, young and old.
Nobody cares much — M is so friendly, he just gives off this, this vibe that makes making out with strangers okay. In public.
Is this normal???
Sometimes I think I’m the weird one for making a big deal out of all this. I like to consider myself a social liberal, and I’m not one to restrain the PDA of others, even when it makes me barf a little in the back of my mouth. So M kisses a lot.
No big deal.
The Eye Contact
Confession: I’m an introvert. So when M and I go on walks, he’s the one making frequent eye contact, smiling at other walkers, brushing past couples, yadda yadda yadda. They love it, of course. M is a handsome guy. I know he’s handsome because people are always paying M little compliments, like you’re so cute and oh my gosh, where’d you get him haha. Stuff like that.
Now, I don’t want to sound bitter or jealous. I’m not, honestly. I’m fine. As I said, I’m an introvert. I own cats.
I just have one small, measly-weasly complaint: everyone avoids me.
It’s true. When we’re together, people avoid me. It’s like I’m surrounded by an invisible bubble that deflects eye contact and multisyllabic conversation. Starting a discussion is like shouting FIRE in a gunpowder factory — it genuinely rattles people, like I’ve violated some sort of unspoken agreement: thou who art ugliest shall not speak thus, that sort of thing.
Sometimes, people will ask me M’s name, and after I tell them they’ll nod, commit it to memory, and leave. Without asking for mine.
At first, I blamed this squarely on the neighborhood. But there’s more.
The Shitting
My buddy has an odd habit. He’s not ashamed of it, I think — born with the condition, some quirk of the mind that prevents him from using the toilet like the rest of civil society. That I’m fine with it is a testament to the strength of our seven-year friendship.
He shits. Frequently and publicly. There, I’ve said it.
M shits so often that I’ve taken to carrying around plastic bags on our walks in case of an accident (or two). Convince M to shit at the house before he leaves is like convincing bread to slice itself.
That’s all good and well — as I said, I’ve known M for seven years now, and I’m used to his condition — but what’s weird is the reaction to his shitting. Specifically, the lack thereof.
People don’t give two figs about M’s uncontrollable pooping habit.
I’ve seen total strangers glance at M going about his business without comment. Not so much as a hey, that’s not normal or hygienic.
It’s getting to the point where I’m tempted to fling his poop bags at strangers to elicit a reaction. Even if it’s only to admire the bags as they sail by. Even if the strangers decide to use M’s feces are fertilizer for the rose gardens they’re planting in his honor.
It’s unnatural. M is so damnably loveable he can slobber over strangers, effortlessly rob me of human contact, and shatter social norms without consequence.
He’s the fairy to my bridge troll, and honestly?
I think he’s a dog.
