While preparing for cosmetic surgery, the nurse tells me that she is going to make me fabulously glamorous. She details everything that she will do to my face and describes the grand result.
When I tell her that my scars are actually precious flaws and treasured defects, that I would be unrecognizable without them, she is perplexed that I would value those parts of myself that she sees as ugly. I hadn’t thought of myself as ugly. Am I?
Her assistant whispers to me that if I remove my flaws then my gifts will also leave, because they require one another in order to live.