Fabulous Flaws

I love the impurities of life; the things often looked over as flaws, the things that show the world in a naked, honest way.

I once met a girl who is--at least on the outside--about as close to "perfect" as they come. Athletic, pretty, popular, smart, she had it all. You'd expect a girl like that to have clean-cut, long fingers with well cared for nails. Not the case.

I still remember the time she offered me a high-five (actually, it was a low-five, but that's irrelevant) and I got a look at those hands. To be honest, I had to look back at her face to make sure they were hers; even now it seems like a figment of my imagination. Her nails were not filed and trimmed to a tee. They were chewed and gnawed much like my own. On one finger there was a colourful band-aid. Her palms were smudged and stained with dirt. Granted, we were leaping into a damp long-jump pit at the time, but still. I think her hands are her best quality--imperfect and modest and actually being used for living.

It's not just people that have impurities, though. The world around us is full of them. Freshly squeezed lemonade is one of my favourites. I love the pulp floating around in my glass, the way it adds texture on the tip of my tongue. It's real; unlike the fake, everyday feeling you get drinking powder lemonade.