Sitting in traffic, I notice the girl in the car next to me, staring listlessly ahead as her mother chatters on about something or other. Red lights seem to last so long and there is seldom anything to be found on the radio dial whenever I'm trapped at one. So I steal glances at the girl beside me, thinking that she has an unfortunate face. I think you know what I mean. She isn't ugly. But, she isn't pretty either. She isn't striking, but she isn't plain either. There is a certain nobleness and attractiveness to be found in a plain face, the normal nondescript slant of a plain face is quite pleasant. Her eyes may be just a little bit too close together, eyebrows a little two high. Maybe her lips are too thick, or a nose that is neither too big, nor too small--just somewhere between the two, being neither nor unless the shadows strike just so, and even still it is disconcerting trying to figure out what it is about this face that makes it so unfortunate. There is a no real sadness in her eyes, just a bitter look of acceptance, as though she has already given up on her dreams and on having anything that matters significantly. That she's only hoping to find a guy who will marry her and give her kids, a family and home, so she can grow old and not be alone. And, I feel sorry for her, because her kids will be beautiful, and they'll look just like her, except whatever minor imperfection made her face unfortunate will be obsolete. And, before I can think anymore the light is green and I'm moving on.