Enjoying My Flaws
Photo by true2source
I have strawberries.
Thereâ€™s a medical term for it, but I donâ€™t remember it. [added: cherry angioma]Â All I remember is that my lovers have always referred to them as â€œstrawberriesâ€â€”either with great fascination or great disdain and precious little in between.
Theyâ€™re tiny scarlet freckles, no larger than the size of a pinhead, and I have probably a dozen hidden on my body. The doctor who laser-smoothed my childhood dog-bite scar offered to zap them off for me, but they donâ€™t bother me and Iâ€™ve never held any animosity toward them, unlike with the scar.
When I was a tiny girl, I was always intrigued with them on the other women in my family and somehow understood them to be a sign of womanhood and would say that I would have them, too, when I became a woman. And I do. But getting dressed in front of the mirror and not yet dressed, I noticed one of the cherry-red flecks and distinctly heard the word INCLUSIONS. Not occlusions, as in a blockage, but inclusions. Like with my favorite quartz….
Thanks for reading!Â This article in included in its entirety in The Long-Awaited, Honest-to-God Secret to Being Happy.