Hope for Periwinkle

A splash of Flash

Photo by Noah Silliman on Unsplash

I come from homely people. Not average. Not plain as a mud fence. Unmistakenly homely. According to Mom, it’s our curse.

Grandmother Carpenter says Mom loves nothing more than a pity party.

“Besides,” she says, “what’s Dawn complaining about? She’s managed to get close enough to at least two men.” Then she cackles like she’s told the best joke in the world.

It's true. Mom has two kids, and neither of us has ever met our father. We don’t even know their names. That’s the one subject Grandma is as tight-lipped about as Mom.

Still, if you listen to Grandmother Carpenter, being homely isn’t a curse at all. It’s a blessing. If people like you, she says, it’s because they actually like you. Not the shiny packaging.

But by that logic, couldn’t someone dislike you just as easily because of the packaging?

I mean, I love periwinkle. But just looking at chartreuse makes me want to vomit. I’d never pick a package wrapped in chartreuse unless it was the last one. Even then, I might go without.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m an ugly duckling. There are unknown genes rumbling around inside me. Not knowing what my father looks like leaves room for hope. Maybe there’s a splash of periwinkle in there somewhere.

If not, I’ll rely on brains.