Attitude

Whether its in a guy or a girl, I love attitude. To some degree (and perhaps to its full degree) I require attitude in anyone I like.

Not the stupid flamboyant diva front that many put on, but instead the understated, muted, non-attention seeking prickliness of self-assuredness.

One girl I totally fell for in college was this super gorgeous, short, and talented brunette.

I noticed her first by the way she walked. It was as if she walked on or parted the waters with her stride. It was relaxed yet absolutely purposeful. It wasn't dramatic. Her gait was subtle yet distinctive.

The next noticeable quality was her dress--perfect, flawless, and detailed and per the occasion.

She wasn't super gorgeous in the most conventional sense. She looked part native american, part spanish with light skin, dark eyes/hair, and pronounced cheeks and lips.

She had the most amazing hour glass figure--with a truly impossibly small waist and large round hips. She didn't have amazing breasts, but her neck and shoulders were incredible.

I wrote a poem about her at one point. It focused on two main points. The first was a simile between her and a long stem rose. Both were largely thorny and prickily--however, they both ended in absolute beauty. The second was that her attitude seemed undeniably authentic. In fact everything--from her facade, clothes, jewels etc, to the expressions that yielded her spontaneous reactions--had those broken-in, paradoxical, marks of being bourne out of pain, not just upbrining.

As a result, I wrote that surrounded by immitation, she was indeed the real thing. She didn't pretend to be troubled. She was. She didn't dress to be beautiful. She just was.

Attitudes carries a price. So I must earn my wages and pay for it.