A Sandcastle at High Tide
I was sixteen years into my existence when I realized I disliked my older brother. He was an impulsive, demanding human being with lack of personal hygiene. His nose was covered with shiny, oily pimples; his teeth were coated with a layer of plaque, giving them a yellow sheen. He didn’t smell bad, and he washed his clothes, but he was never taught how to take care of himself in such a way as to be attractive.
I don’t think it was his hygiene that bothered me all that much; it wasn’t contagious. It wasn’t his constantly stuffy nose or slightly overgrown eyebrows. It wasn’t even the musty smell his pillows emitted. It was his unattractive personality. He had much more social grace than he did with his family. A smile was never vacant from his face, and a jovial conversation was easy for him to start.
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