I ended up parking the silly chariot around the corner on a sidestreet. Some people spend their lives feeling like they're in a daisy car. They arrive at adulthood with bodies that don't fit right, that embarrass or disappoint them. They wish they could park around the corner on a sidestreet and step out free, radiant in a form that better expressed the real person within. Half the conversations in a girls' dorm involve fretting about a nose that's too big or a bust that's too small.
Women fret about thickening figures, men about thinning hair.
One of my college professors would part his just above one ear and pull a sheaf across the top of his pate. During the course of our seminars it would sometimes escape and float back over the top, there to see-saw gently up and down like a feathery brown wing. Others hate their height or hair or hips, convinced that the image these project is an insult and a lie. We look at our disliked features from a distance, alienated and somewhat ashamed. Yet we are not, in reality, so alienated.