It's funny how a single thing can trigger a backlash of memories. I saw a news package this week on the 15-Minute Nose Job, and one of the patients got me thinking about my history with my nose. This patient, a Filipino woman, said that she always wanted a different nose. I could relate.
When I was growing up, I hated my nose. HATED it. I thought it was too flat and not at all cute. I remember wondering why I didn't inherit my father's slim nose bridge, because that was what I really wanted more than anything. I coveted a bridge, something that would make for a nice profile and would also be functional in that it would keep my glasses from sliding down my face. I distinctly remember rubbing my seemingly nonexistent bridge with my thumb and forefinger as if to pinch it into shape, and praying every night, hoping that I would somehow magically develop a shapely bridge while I slept, and wake up looking like a Brand New Me.
(That said, as much as I hated my nose, I would be the first to defend it. One time this boy called me "Flat Nose," and I delivered a backhanded slap with lightning speed. I cut my finger on his braces. I still have the scar.)
When I started wearing makeup I didn't bother with trying to use contouring powder to create some fake bridge. For one, I didn't wear enough makeup every day to warrant using contouring powder. Second, that always looks fake, so why bother? I learned to live with it.
Which takes me to where I am today. I no longer have that complex. It has been years since I fretted over my lack of bridge, since I prayed for a new nose. I don't even remember when I grew out of it. Perhaps when I finally grew into my face was when I finally let go of that demon, and, let me tell you, it feels really good. Good to accept the nose I was born with, to not have a problem with it anymore. Heck, I even think it's cute.
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