The Ugly Ones

They say it’s all in the eye of the beholder, but to me ugly us ugly. I should know. I’m so ugly that I’ve stopped looking at myself in the mirror. The cuts I’ve made to my face shaving probably have worsened my condition but I just don’t think about it anymore.

Who could blame me?

Even my name is ugly: Horace.

My ugliness hasn’t hurt me much. I’ve got an office job with a good salary and even better benefits. Not to mention an ugly wife and two ugly kids that I adore.

When we go out to have a family picnic in the park—something we do every Sunday—people stare and we ignore them. We eat and feed nuts to the squirrels and seeds to the birds. We all frolic together in nature. It’s like a Disney movie.

Zelda plays with her hula hoop. Digby throws a ball up in the air and catches it. Beatrice knits and I do the crossword puzzle in ink.

We are happy. Happier than the judgmental ones, the shallow ones, the clever but mean ones. We don’t care. We are carefree.

Hey, people: stop looking and start seeing. Learn how to live!