We don't have a lot of mirrors at my height in the house for a good reason. Me. Without belaboring the obvious, I'm never gonna end up on the side of a milk carton asking 'Have you seen me?' mainly because my visage would sour the milk (and no one would look for me).
I've grown used to it after six-plus decades here on the ant farm and, if I were to be totally honest, my face doesn't actually bother me so much since I'm behind and not in front of it. Your mileage may vary and I'd apologize but it's the nature of Nature, I guess.
I was doing some reading the other day that suggested some hope for a bug-ugly such as I: Hanging around being a friend of already handsome people. Check it out right here. I'm sure there are enough beautiful people for the two of us to live well.
My problem might be that so many of these shiny, happy people I read about in the pages of the tabloids and gossip magazines strike me upon closer review as being as ugly on the inside as I am on the outside. My saving grace is my mom dresses me nice. Maybe they should eat their make-up.