Noble Ugliness.

I work with a woman I consider to be ugly, in a noble, dignified way. I like her ugliness. It's not ugliness, necessarily; in bygone days, she would have been described as handsome, but because we are modern and sharp featured, and elfin, she has fallen out of fashion.

She has a roman nose and small eyes. She is tall and broad, like me, and blunt featured, with straight teeth and narrow lips. I think she is wonderful looking. She attracts attention, from me anyway. I like that she dresses in suits and flat shoes and makes no pretence of flounce or prettiness. I like the iron grey bob cut she wears without fuss, which falls perfectly.

I wonder if she used to be a beauty. She looks like a sportswoman, someone that likes to run and walk and jump. She is nervy, almost, and sensible. I like her dignity. Somehow she emanates calm.

Lady of the House, Chatelaine, looks crumpled. I always worry I might step on her, or squash her. She doesn't look so very fragile or delicate. It's simply that she is so strong, she does so much, and it all pours out of such a small body. I worry she'll wear herself out, scrubbing and cleaning. She doesn't seem large enough for the person that she is, for the things she does. Her skin wrinkles and blushes easily, touched by the badness of the world, but she's got a quick walk, propelled by all of those big things she's thinking about.

If she touches me (and it's always a very light tap on the arm, a touch on my shoulder) it feels as if she'll dessicate, just from touching something so large and hard as I am, but then I remember she is as strong as me, if not more. She has more colour to her. Does she see me and think, what is this etiolated specimen about? Long arms and legs, and pale pale pale. Looking always like something from a victorian detective fiction, blood red hair and pale skin, warring contrasts. Though I can walk and go and do. Do I sap her energy? I hope not. I hope I make her feel safer, rather than adding to the burden; another one to turn to the sun, to place in the shade and feed and water. She's the eternal gardener. And how does the garden grow?

I was so surprised, that she wanted me because I want her. I have visions of being in some sort of play and inviting her to watch, and... I don't know.

I want to bring her things and fill her out, and nourish her and wrap her up and let her go out into the world, because that's what she adores doing. I just want to be about for her to come back to. She's like snow, unexpectedly strong when compacted into a small form, but easy to crush and melt. Beautiful all the time. I just watch and wonder.