Beauty and the Beast

OK, I will start off by eating a giant slice of humble pie. I am, by no means, a beautiful woman. I completely recognize that I'm somewhere in the middle, between f-ugly and drop dead gorgeous. But of course, beauty is entirely in the eye of the beholder. I know that some men will find me attractive enough to pay attention to me, and some men will not even blink in my direction. It's not something I'm prone to think of very often anymore. I'm basically beyond my obsession with trying to be something I'm not. Unfortunately, on more than one occasion, I have been reminded of just where I stand in the beauty spectrum, and lucky for me, today was one of those days!

First, let me say that I believe that there is a such thing as universal beauty.

There are some men and women who are just universally attractive. These are the type of people who end up in magazines and in movies. They have the sort of appearance that basically makes them attractive to nearly everyone within reason. They are our gold standards of beauty. It's what we all strive to achieve.

Having said all that, today, I was in the presence of one of these universal beauties, and it nearly made me want to get acquainted with the underside of some one's tires. It was not because she was gorgeous and I was jealous, which you are all assuming. No, it was the way the man who picked us up was reacting to her that made me want to become a hood ornament for a Mack truck.

She and I were going to two different destinations, and she was in line behind me. The fact that we ended up in the same car should give you an indication of just how this little joy ride was going to go for me this morning.

Let me set the stage: middle-aged man who has the same sort of greasy, creepy appearance as Eric Roberts in Star 80 (google it) pulls up in his piece of crap car that he's tried to make seem more luxurious by adding an expensive stereo, air freshener, and beaded seat-cushions. He calls out for my stop, and I excitedly head to the car (it's FREEZING cold outside!). Junior Heidi Klum purrs out to him to see if he would take her to HER destination. Since you can guess what his response was, I'll move on. This is a 2-door vehicle, so already feeling frumpy and insignificant, I got to make that graceful climb into the backseat that required leg-hiking and an involuntary grunt or two. On this particular morning, I would have skipped the backseat luxury just to make her crawl into such an unflattering position, but being the sensible woman I am, I knew she'd be getting out before me.

For the record, I don't hate this woman or begrudge her the beauty she was blessed with. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't get a glimmer of joy knowing she was uncomfortable in some way. Why should everything be perfect for her all the time?

So, we all settled in, and Mr. Gawk-man immediately began mentally undressing her. He even set the mood, I believe, hoping that she might actually strip for him. When we got in, he was listening to news talk radio. A few minutes later he turned to a slow jazz station. I was literally waiting for him to light candles and pop a cork with TWO glasses. Lacking a fireplace to set the mood, he actually said "the sun is really pretty this morning."

Oh
My
God.

Now, I imagine this genetically blessed princess is more than used to men rolling out the red carpet for her. I figure there are men who would go, or have gone, into the poor-house buying her expensive gifts just to keep her around. She probably has a closet of jewelry boxes of "rejected" mementos to prove it. (I still have the same jewelry box I've had since I was 9 years old, and it's mostly filled with fake "jewels.") Her apparent boredom with the attention was the only comfort I had this morning.

After she was done filing her nails, yeah--seriously, she decided she needed MORE beauty rest. All this time, Hefner was staring at her about every three seconds and the road about every 65 seconds. It was something like this: eyes on the road, 1-1000, 2-1000, 3-1000, eyes on hot babe, still, still, still, HARD BRAKING. Yes, we almost plowed into the back of about 4 different cars this morning. The fact that he kept slamming on his brakes only made her shift in her seat slightly. I guess she's accustomed to causing accidents. I, on the other hand, was scared out of my ugly head.

Once, he actually stared at her and then glanced back at me in his rear view mirror. I can't be sure, but I think he cringed. Even if he didn't, I didn't appreciate the obvious comparison. So, forgive me if I spew a little hatred on him for a minute.

This guy was just slightly below the middle in the looks department, but he thinks much more highly of himself. He clearly thought he was going to score with her. He was probably plotting out his proposal as we drove in. The fact that she was ignoring his little Ladies Man routine was absolutely divine from my perspective. His behavior was so obnoxious, and clueless, that I don't see how he could honestly believe he was going to get her attention or affection. I knew, as would a dead person, that this was NOT going to be a match, but that didn't stop him from acting like he was God's gift to women (the pretty ones of course). On the OFF CHANCE that this guy would have done the same to ME, still no match. See what I am saying? Even I am out of his league. Again, this didn't stop him from treating me like complete scum.

We began to get close to HER destination, and he started to panic. He tried to strike up a conversation. I believe he tried to comment on something on the radio. She giggled in a COMPLETELY and OBVIOUSLY disinterested way. I'm pretty sure she didn't even hear him. My ears were ringing with too much fear and voodoo curses to hear anything he said. All I know is I could literally see the look hit his face when he realized his hope of pollinating her flower was far too unattainable, even for a stud like him. His whole facial expression changed, and he actually seemed a bit angry. Welcome to the real world, my friend. We've been waiting for you!

OK, here's where it gets uglier for me. (This is not something I would normally tell ANYONE, but I'm sacrificing for my art here.)

She got out, and I figured it would make sense for me to go ahead and climb into the front seat while I had her to move the seat up for me. Do you know what that bastard said to me?

Ready?

"You can stay back there if you want."

Yep. He actually said that to me.

OH, yes, I was pissed. There was no time to be insulted or hurt. I was down-right pissed off. If Patrick Dempsey were to be rude and dismissive to me, I could halfway accept that. But THIS GUY? Why should he get to take out his failure to score with someone hotter than he could ever hope to get out on ME--seriously! I was FUMING, and I was 100% sure I was going to have to do something about this.

After dropping her off, he decided to pull out in front of a Mack truck doing about 60 MPH. It was at THAT moment that I decided I was not going to feel bad about myself for this bastard, and I certainly wasn't going to consider death as an alternative to his rejection!

He pulled up to where he was going to let me out, and just as I was getting ready to open the door he said "wait, let me pull up a bit more." So he pulled up to where I'd have to step out into the mud!

With mud on my shoes and ice in my veins, I thanked him for the ride and said "you never had a chance with her! She was way out of your league. Oh, and your air freshener smells like pimp oil."

Off I went to Starbucks for a hot chocolate and a muffin settled on the fantasy that somewhere, someday, someone will stuff someone ELSE in the backseat and make them step in mud for me!

IT COULD HAPPEN!