My wife is a conundrum when you seek to define the word "looker."
To me, she's a looker. Meaning to say, she's an attractive woman.
And she's getting more attractive with age, developing that classy air that women get (the lucky ones with good genes) as they leave the tethering bonds of youth behind (good riddance).
But, she's also a bad looker. Meaning, if she is looking for something, I will always manage to find it before her, after her (when she's left the room in a huff), in spite of her, and much to her dismay, sometimes sitting right in front of her.
For all you pessimists out there who think I'm writing this post to get myself out of the doghouse, or trying to butter up my darling wife to convince her that I really do need that Tig welder, back off slowly and carefully.
Surprisingly enough, S very rarely reads my blog and then, only when I forward her the link. If you were to ask her what the name or url of my blog was, she'd draw a blank.
Sure, she's bookmarked it, but don't ask her to find it in her endless list of her browser's bookmark menu. That would extort her to call upon her looker skills.
Taking us right back to square one.