E.A.R.: THE LIVING, BREATHING EMBODIMENT OF ‘A’ — NUMBER — ONE
The first time I gazed upon the unforgettably sparkling countenance of E.A.R., I knew.
I mean you just don’t see faces like hers every day.
Hardly.
You’d be lucky to see a small number of faces such as this one in a lifetime, never mind daily.
I’ve often wondered how when she gets up in the morning and looks in the mirror she could be anything short of thrilled at the reflection looking back.
It’s no surprise really because genes seldom lie.
Her mother, a very attractive woman today, was bona fide beauty queen material when she was younger. If she had been the least bit interested in having her own face (and body; let’s keep this in context as I’m no perv) plastered all over the place, I’m sure she could have done it.
Her father is handsome; one of those men who in defiance of the passage of time still resembles a kid facially even in his late-seventies.
Remarkable and genealogy aside, mystifying.
The point is that E.A.R. comes by her facial features — and entire lovely package — quite honestly.
And that’s not the best part.
What kills me is that she doesn’t appear to know it.
(In fact, on occasion she could use a double-shot of self-esteem but that’s another story for another time).
To be self-effacing is a good thing, an admirable quality. E.A.R. is certainly that. But this only faintly scratches the surface.
She is the nicest, kindest, most thoughtful, caring, helpful, spiritual, loving human being I think I’ve ever met.
These people live in the minority of God’s human creations, they must.
The content of her character and her inner beauty far exceed what physically meets the eye which is fairly serious as I have mentioned.
And if she knows even a smidgen of this about herself she never shows it nor would she.
When I compliment her she looks at me as if I have two heads. She sticks out her tongue. She replies, “oh suuure” or something roughly akin.
I know that she sees these things in herself; believe me she’s very astute and self-aware.
But to publicly acknowledge any of this might smack of conceit which is anathema to her persona and being, purely loathsome.
In the interest of full disclosure, E.A.R. and I are a couple and have been for nearly seventeen years. I love her with all my heart and soul. She loves me, I know.
After all, I’m a pretty good guy; obviously immodesty is not as big a problem for me as it certainly is for her.
But that’s where all comparisons between us end, or should. I have my wits about me.
Simply stated, as far as goodness — and countless other positive traits no doubt — is concerned, I finish a distant second.
She’s so far ahead of me I can no longer see her on the course.
I aspire to be the person E.A.R. is.
And I love her.
[Editor’s Note: This piece was written by Mr. Kaplan in December 2016.]
ADDENDUM: Nothing’s changed.
