Appearance Prejudice

I moved the goddess of bad notes away from the piano, out of sight in another bay window, in case I've been depending on her.  I had thought the wooden carving was androgynous, but further inspection suggests the god is a goddess.   She appears angry, with deep ruts in her unsmiling cheeks and a fiercely set jaw under asymmetrical eyes set in deep sockets, her scraggly hair long and wiry.

On the other hand, I don't know her well, so her contorted mouth might be a gentle smile.  At my age, I should have outgrown appearance prejudice.  Many people have surprised me over the years.  A few nights ago, I appeared to myself in a dream, my face damaged by burns or disease and, as I re-entered consciousness, I was thinking, "It doesn't matter; I am who I am."

"You rascal," says Virginia.  "I hoped you were going to explain your thought that a piece of wood could swallow bad notes."

"It wasn't my idea," I confess.  "The friend who gave it to me is a respected professor emeritus of religion and philosophy.  He suggested she might help me out."

"I should have guessed," says Virginia.  "Is this the same fellow who earned an amulet in a Japanese dojo,* after learning to invoke spirits and lay hands on dead cars and frogs?"

"Croak," I say.

"Vroom," says Virginia.
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* The religious sect was Sukyo Mahikari.