I'm not sure why, but that kind of freaks me out.
I've gone cross-eyed trying to prove the statement wrong, and, in fact, have seen the tip of my nose, the tops of my cheeks, and my upper lip when puckered for a big ol' smack-a-roo (SMOOCH!).
I still haven't, however, seen what it is that others view of, or in my face.
I've never really seen my face in pictures, either. Seldom do I recognize that person there in print.
Or, (and this is the really freaky part: freaky in the way that I might not know what my laundry soap smells like to others), maybe pictures do show a perfect representation, and that really is what I look like...
Not that it really matters one way or the other, because either way, this is me. Still, I wonder.
Just this week, though, I was filming my two-year-old nephew as he sang "Let it Go" while caressing his fake blonde hair, when he told me it was his turn to take pictures of me. I obliged and diligently smiled through the photo-shoot. And, funny thing is, although most of the pictures were of my hands, the counter, or the refrigerator, Ben also caught me.
This actually is how I see myself.
And, just in case you were wondering, this is how Ben sees himself, blonde tresses and all:
