She's not particularly attractive -- nor is she particularly unattractive; my intent is not to disparage the girl. She has, though, the most exquisite fashion sense. The outfits she wears are variations on a theme, all similar from what I have seen, but of a theme that works. (As I write this, I can hear her across the room speaking, and her beautiful, small voice works well, as well. A light laugh, a light voice, a light personality. Beautiful.)

Striking is her hair. Mostly, around it lies just over the neck of her blouse, save around the face. Somehow, her hair is trained to come down on both sides of the face longer and curved to actually extend further forward than her face. It sounds odd, granted, but this is a failure of my words, not her appearance. Apparently, this is achieved via a pair of -- are they called berettes? I can't find the word in my dictionary -- accenting the red-black hair.

Today, she was in red and black. Not that she always does. I'm not inventing a Bobbi duplicate here or anything. I've seen her in earth tones, green and brown, or in a black and peach ensemble. She doesn't always wear the same colors, but she always wears colors that somehow seem right, whatever that means. (I suppose it means they match, but that is not, as they say, my balliwack.) As I was saying, though, she wore red and black. Her blouse was a shiny red and followed her body without being tight. It is almost as if she had a parallel outfit, or maybe a second layer of skin a little distance away from her body. A number of her blouses have that sheen, and all follow that parallel path in such a way as to really invite touch -- not lascivious touch, but an embrace, an arm around a contoured waist.

(This slinkiness also means that the contours of her bra -- on the shoulders and back, at least -- are reflected as well. I don't quite know what I think of that. I don't much care for being able to see a girl's bra, but I would care for it less if she was obviously without one. I suppose it is an acceptable compromise, even for one as breast centered as I.) Her breasts, beneath the blouse, have a perfect curvature to them. In every blouse, she manages to get a settling effect to envelope them, whether standing or leaning forward or whatever. From the side or slightly behind as she leans across a desk one can see the perfect shape and perfect size of her breasts. And yet, this too is not for lascivious effect, although too inviting, almost begging for, touch. Her blouse goes from neck to waist every day, and leaves all vulgar detail to the imagination. The form the imagination is to fill, however, is perfection.

But all this is only half the story. Below the waist she still keeps the beauty. Her skirts run to the mid-thigh. Usually, I do not care for that. Usually, this seems cheap, vulgar. With a toddler, though, one does not think twice about seeing them in a short dress. It is the same with her. I do not mean to imply she is sexless by any stretch of the imagination. While perhaps not sexual, this is sensual, and sensuousness is far more erotic than base, popular "sexiness." Simply, on her it looks right. It does not seem affected or lewd, it just seems like you could never have pictured her in anything else. Her legs run beautiful and sculpted from the high hem to the high heels, and makes you wonder how God could have failed with all those other girls.

Incredibly, in the sunlight parts of her skirt have that same sheen that her blouses seem to have.

All that, though, dwells on the accessories and skirts around the person. I should take a moment to do as little justice for her face as I have managed for her body.

She has the biggest eyes. When you see her face, when attention can be pulled from her red brown hair and her inviting figure, that is what you notice. So striking are they that I cannot, even now that I can picture her in my arjana eye, tell what color they are. (I dimly recall brown, but then I could dimly recall anything if I tried.) Her eyes are big and soft, like a warm marsh you'd wander into and not realize you'd gotten trapped until it was too late. I'm sure she realizes this. The almost excessive make up she wears around them makes a monochrome blue target, drawing your gaze ever in. Her cheeks are red. If she has a flaw, that is it. They aren't the pink-red of a ruddy English milk maid; they seem almost too red for her face. If a girl must have a fault, I can think of many worse.

The red does, though, sit better on her lips, which are always, it seems, in a bit of a pout. This is not to imply she is dour. She laughs -- sometimes -- and it is a beautiful, airy, light sound. It well suits her voice. She does not try to affect a hearty man's laugh or an excessive laugh, as do so many other girls. But even in this laugh, even the times she fleetingly smiles, she has this air around her.

In a very real sense, she seems like she is always sad. Not sour, she does not seem mad or cruel, just sad. She seems like someone who sees the happiness and beauty in the world with a grim but appreciative smile, all the while knowing that there is pain and misery behind the movie set facades, and the carnival wagons are momentary diversions from lives of drudgery and pain.

With that air, that expression, she would be beautiful without the body or the clothes. That feel, that expression, that almost psychic call to be held is an appealing sight, and one tinged with the sadness of knowing predators hear that call, too. She could be the victim of so many evil men, but she could really make a man happy, too. She has the feel of softness, of docility, and of a carefully hidden happiness, tucked away in a hope chest for when the right man comes along.

I can only pray she finds him, before she is preyed upon too much.