Vox has a post up over at his place about the inequality of women who are attractive v. women who are, well, a bit challenged.
It cracks me up.
Mostly because for most of my life, up until my late 20’s, I looked a lot like this:
And I had the dorky wardrobe that went with it. I mean, seriously, what doesn’t go with an XL men’s flannel shirt, leggings and Birkenstocks, right?
But one day I woke up, started exercising, discovered the joy of creative hair design and the divine nature of well-applied make up.
My whole world changed. Seriously.
Where before I had had to rely on intelligent discourse, quick wit, a clever repartee and a thick-skinned approach to the reality that I, quite frankly, would never be Cool,I was suddenly thrown over the bridge into the world of The Other Girl.
The one where men noticed me and pursued. Church men. What the hell?
Granted, I was married, had 2 children and was nearly 30 when that happened but, dude…. Seriously?
Customer service improved drastically, my opinions mattered, women suddenly hated me and, when going out with a friend one night? I discovered the reality of the “free drink” from some wannabe Casanova BEFORE the beer goggles went on.
And it, quite literally, scared me back into several tubs of ice cream and a burning desire to never try on a pair of patent leather Via Spigas again.
So, here I am at 36.
I had put this up a few days ago because, honestly, it makes me feel like I’m having a Clark Kent/Superman moment. And it cracked me up how well suited my complexion, hair and general appearance are to the suburban housewife of 1952. Not to boast. I still feel like that girl up at the top.
Obviously I can’t stay away from designer shoes and red lipstick is just to marvelous to ever pass up wearing.
But one truth has remained with me.
Picture #2 shows the window dressing that Picture #1 lacks but the person is very much the same. There is no guarantee that I will have a life long run at looking snazzy. Genetics are kinda stacked against me. My Mom is 75 and looks like she’s closer to 90.
Pretty is skin deep. Beauty comes from within.
I have had the pleasure of knowing several beautiful people who weren’t very pretty at first glance but who became much more attractive over time. And I have known several pretty people who quickly reduced themselves to hags by their ungrateful, bitter, angry behavior.
I love being able to look pretty and to see my Mr’s eyes light up. The June Cleaver get-up got all the reaction I was hoping for. 😀
If it weren’t for his encouragement and honest opinions, which I value more highly than I can even tell you, I would most likely weigh 300 pounds and have some version of a short spikey, “But I love Meg Ryan’s hair” ridiculousity (my word, sue me) with a gigantic flannel and worn out leggings.
And that, my friends, is another thought for another day.