She’s incongruously spectacular.

Her hair is brown, lustrous, with a hint of curls toward the bottom, as it hits her shoulders.

Her eyes, brown, are huge, and almond-shaped. They’re deep, and captivating.

Her face is long, angular, and perfectly symmetric. Her nose is long, but proportional. Her lips are full, pouty, and moist. Her skin is transcendentally clear.

Surely, when she walks into a room, every head turns.

But somehow, her self-presentation counters her beauty. She wears distinctly unfashionable jeans. A top that is a shade of maroon that looks as if it faded in the sun for just long enough to look old. And a cheap knock-off faux silk patterned scarf that clashes badly with the top.

Her nails are painted, sloppily, with a shade of blue you might expect to see on an Oldsmobile. And she wears a clunky white plastic watch that looks as if she bought it in a drugstore for $12.99.

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