At that moment, Lee showed up. I always thought that Lee looked more like a Tom than a Lee. He was tall, his head was shaved, he was large—overweight I think, actually, although I would never say that because he’s so sensitive about things like that (although his nonchalance makes it seem like he isn’t)—and yet somehow looked like he was nine years old. Maybe it was the way he dressed that made him look that way. Anyway, he should have come off as intimidating, given his god-given bodily figure. Instead, he came off as very nice and very sociable but somewhat insecure. You could tell he was kind of insecure because of his humor, which was self-deprecating without being dark. Sometimes he would make jokes about being ugly.
Personally, although I swear I don’t subscribe to any stupid universal-love-like beliefs, I find it easy to find things beautiful that are not, really, classically beautiful. Even those things that someone like me might, every once in a while, in a conversation, forgetting for a moment that I can find beauty in everything, say is “the kind of ugly that just can’t be beautiful,” or “really profoundly mundane, so that it just can’t be beautiful,” or “like a scrap of white plastic, like, plastic all the way from the 70’s, sitting on a granite counter, and maybe from being beaten up it has a couple of grooves in it filled with dirt. But the contrived contrast between the plastic and the granite makes it impossible for the situation to be beautiful.” The reason I let you in on that fact about me is that I want to tell you that I didn’t find Lee ugly. Lots of people would reassure him that he was not ugly, but I really meant it. They didn’t.
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