His best friend was a mirror.
He didn’t know why he had such trouble finding other friends. I am, after all, gorgeous, he thought. He looked at himself every morning and every evening, and carried a small mirror around with him (NOT a compact, of course, just a small mirror) to admire himself through the day.
He made sure to point out his chiseled jaw line to everyone he met. He enjoyed describing, in detail, the shape of his own eyebrows, their curve up to a slight point before they fell down again just to the corner of his eyelid. Indeed, they were groomed to fit the exact length of his eyes.
Anyone who complained about their lack of exercise in his presence, he graced with his own daily regimen at the gym. He gave them in depth advice on how to achieve the six-pack he lifted his shirt to show, and how to sculpt their biceps into a veritable gun show.
But still, people seemed to avoid him. He knew it was out of envy. But the mirror could never be envious. It merely offered him the chance to reflect on his own beauty, for which he was quite content.