“By the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.” – The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams
I have a weird fondness for things that are scruffy around the edges. It’s why I like amateur theatre productions. I’d rather spend my time laughing at Richard’s impossibly scrawny legs, which the wardrobe people always find a way to show off, than see Judy Dench do something Oscar-worthy. It takes a lot to get me out in the rain, and Richard’s skinny legs are it. I like fluffed lines and streaks of unexpected genius in my kink and men, too.
I’ve dated a few people who weren’t worn and frayed, but I’ve always fallen in love with the tattered ones. Your impeccable smile and even more flawless personality might get me infatuated, but if you’re too perfect, you will never feel like home to me. I don’t understand men who grew up happy and then matured to become even more evolved. What planet are they from? I barely believe a life like that is possible, even though the evidence is all around me.
When the weather is cold, I grab the scruffiest blanket instead of the exquisite quilt. When I’m alone, I wear the hoody with the holes. I drink from the chipped cup and eat from the scratched plate. When I’m with people, I try to be more polished, but when I want comfort, it must be from something I can sink into without worrying that I will crease or discolour it.
I sink into ragged people just as easily. I find their depth warmer and their love more triumphant.
“He loved him so hard that he loved all his whiskers off, and the pink lining to his ears turned grey, and his brown spots faded. He even began to lose his shape, and he scarcely looked like a rabbit anymore, except to the Boy. To him he was always beautiful, and that was all that the little Rabbit cared about.”