Would you guys tell me if I was ugly? No, seriously. I realize that most of you don't know what I look like, but maybe through some psychic magical sense, the words I type here convey some essential information about my appearance. (super... model... stellar... beauty...) Is it coming through?

I'm having one of Those Days, wherein I feel it might be best to lock myself in the aft cabin of the sailboat and never ever come out, at least not until a team of specialists armed with high-end cosmetics work on me for several weeks.

There are two reasons for this feeling of abject hideousness, which I am exaggerating only slightly:

1. My new driver's license picture, which I retrieved from the mailbox today; and


2. See No. 1

It's so depressing! It is unbearably hideous. And the most depressing aspect of its hideousness is the fact that I actually tried to look decent for the momentous event of visiting the DMV to have my picture taken. When I left the boat that morning, I thought, Well, at least this time around, my picture will be bearable. I was also hoping that my high-fashion sparkly shamrock barrettes I overpaid for would show up in the picture, but that was secondary to my overall confidence that this year, I would rock the DMV with my elegance in the face of poor lighting and amateur photographers. I was looking forward to getting rid of my old picture, which is five years old and was taken during a transitional period, coiffure-wise, and shows inaccurate bangs.

WHAT A FOOL I WAS!

I opened the envelope with a sense of curiosity that instantly turned to horror and dismay as I realized that not only do I have to display this horrorshow to every bartender who asks, but the creeping feeling that it might be an accurate representation of my appearance.

I am too ashamed to post said picture here, but I'll try to describe it. First off, my skin appears to be vibrantly peach, and striated with a series of lines that could be chalked up to low-resolution image, but are awful nonetheless. My hair has exploded into a giant, triangular mass culminating at the top of my head. There is no definition to the mass--it's simply a black triangle, as if my head is in the process of being engulfed by a volcanic eruption. (And incidentally? The barrettes do NOT show at ALL.) The hair extends beyond the boundaries of the photograph. My facial expression is also a curiosity, somewhere between "preparing to spit out a wad of gum" and "drunk." I don't recall being drunk or chewing gum that day, but the photo does not lie.

What am I going to do, you guys? I'm so unhappy about this terrible photo, and I know it's shallow, but it's making me feel like I am genuinely that unattractive. Like, if I got pulled over, I'd have my license revoked on the grounds that I am too hideous to drive a car.

The Keelhauler looked at the photo and said, "What happened with your hair?!" We agreed that it was probably a shadow cast by the flash, but it's a startling effect. I look almost exactly like my sullen cousin Corinne, whose main personality traits are an aptitude for high-level math, and giant, overwhelming hair.

The Keelhauler generally assured me that I don't really look like the photo, saying, "That's why there's that saying about drivers license pictures, Violet." I don't know what saying he means, but it wasn't exactly the outpouring of reassurance I was hoping for. What can I say? I'm insecure and shallow, dependent on external approval I never quite receive, even from the DMV.

Star of the day. . .John Singer Sargent