It’s hard to explain what it feels like to be ugly, in life, and then again on Tinder.

Still, as a child there was a dull awareness from around age four that I didn’t possess certain charms that some of the other little girls did. I just didn’t elicit the same reactions from strangers.

My mother dressed me sensibly, for my own comfort. Of course, to her, I was the most adorable child in the world. She doted on me, and so did my father. Love is our lens on the world, after all— too much or too little, respectively. I was ugly, but I never suffered. I refer to myself that way not as an abuse, or a condition, but a state of being, it’s just matter-of-fact, like stating your hometown, or your age. I was wide everywhere, even my face. My skin was rough. There was a comical slope between my heavy brow and nose. There was nothing wrong with me, but I was slightly asymmetrical all over, legs, arms, breasts, and there were thick, coarse hairs that always seemed to burrow their way through to the wrong spots. I’d pick at them, and this left me marked. Huge calves, narrow hips. You get the picture.

I didn’t use the word ugly until much later. After all, one must protect one’s secret belief that one is beautiful. Even back then, I looked in the mirror and liked myself. I really did. I looked like my mother! I had to have got it from somewhere, but it was hard to pick up on because she spent a good many years mastering it herself and I thought she was lovely!

She wore brooches, filed and painted her nails, wore long and flowing skirts. Made the most of fabrics like silk and velvet. Tailored her clothes. Mom was someone who understood detail, and art. She was removed from the burden of ever being some schmuck’s muse, and so understood art more holistically, as both a looming human condition, that incurable disease, as well as the remedy to all unhappiness.

Dad was ugly too, but clean, and wore suits. He smelled good, like fresh herbs rubbed between your hands, or soap and musk. Pepper. They both smelled good. They did their best, and they loved themselves, and then they loved each other. They had a happy life. There were other things about them that were attractive. Good-looking people don’t even realize that’s possible!

Mom was an amazing cook, brought tons of food to church without being asked, and kept paper plates and plastic forks in her car. She gave great hugs, and stood up for people. Visited with the elderly.

Dad was a good businessman, and other men trusted him. They were right to. He was also really funny, didn’t take himself too seriously (or anyone else for that matter).

My dad was so funny he made Jim Carrey laugh when we sat across from him one night at a seafood restaurant. The next day Jim told dad’s joke on late night television, and shouted Here’s to you, Big Dave from Red Hook! Do you know how funny you have to be for Jim Carrey to tell your joke on national television?

Sure, by the time I was a teen I knew we weren’t some catalogue family. We’d never be hired to model Christmas pyjamas. But we were lucky. They loved each other, and they loved me.