I love moles.
I think they’re probably an odd thing to love about the human body. And I can’t tell you with any great certainty precisely why I love them. I have a few ideas, though.
Growing up, I was always jealous of the girls with freckles. My friend Melissa, a little ginger girl, had an adorable smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. I always wanted those little sun dots. Alas, I do not freckle.
The only dark spots on my skin are the handful of moles that speckle my body. The most noticeable are the ones right above my eyebrows. There’s one on each side- the one on the left is perched elegantly above my eyebrow (much like Angelina Jolie’s beauty mark), while the one on the right is nestled against the top of the brow (makes shaping that particular eyebrow a bit of a bitch). I can’t imagine my face without them. In fact, when I go to make those silly little avatars for the Xbox or Wii… I always have to add a facial mole to them. Considering how I part my hair, I’ve always thought the one above my left eyebrow to be an important part of my face. It’s part of who I am, and I like it.
That’s right. I like my moles. In fact, I have two particular favorites. One is located on my lower back, about an inch above my gluteal cleft. It’s dead center, and (oddly enough) can be perfectly framed by the little keyhole cut-outs common among current frilly bits. Grix once said it was her favorite part of my body.
My absolute favorite mole, however, is located in a place few get to see. I find it adorable and hilarious.
Sweet galleons, my vagina has a beauty mark.
I’m not even kidding. It’s located on the left, just outside of the outer labial lips. A tiny little mole.
I think it’s cool.
And now we all know why, if I ever had the urge to name my vagina, I’d call it Marilyn:
Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve learned to love my own moles that makes me appreciate them on others. They are one of those things I can always remember about a person.
I like moles because they are considered by most to be blemishes. They mar the flesh, they ruin all hope of perfect symmetry of the features (unlike most people, I often find asymmetry quite titillating). They are interlopers on the smooth planes of the skin.
I’m drawn to flaws. Flaws are what make people interesting. I get bored with people so quickly that I don’t want to know what makes them normal and socially upstanding. I want to find out what is in them that goes against the grain, what is broken, what is twisted. If you can love a person, not in spite of their flaws, but for them… well, I think only then do you truly love the person.
And moles are little flaws. Little imperfections. Such a tiny thing, yet something most people either ignore or dislike. But me, I like those things everyone else casts aside. I like the forgotten, the abused, the shunned. So, I suppose it’s no great surprise that I find moles interesting, that I notice them when others don’t, that I love their ability to make a face just slightly off-kilter and unique.
Like mine is.
What? I’m a narcissist.