I got my first plastic surgery ad in the mail this year. I tore it up in utter contempt and disgust. I personally believe the plastic should be reserved for the burned, the grossly disfigured, genetic mutations, and Hollywood stars. But I may be biased because I have always been beautiful. I feel my beauty starting to fade a little. But, guess what? I am ok with that. I always worried that I would feel angst about this, but when the time comes it is more of a relief.
People have always said that I look a little like Nicole Kidman. My golden blonde tresses now streaked with gray. Little blue eyes, high cheekbones, tiny ears, small nose, and full sensous lips. Average height, small boned, thin frame, athletically toned, summer golden brown tan, curvy everywhere except my hips, dainty feet.
I think that beauty is a really touchy subject. I felt some reluctance bringing it up. What is beauty? Skin deep? In the eyes of its beholder? Inner? It really is not fair! You are either born beautiful or not. No amount of expensive elixirs can change this fact. You have no control. It is coveted, but downplayed as unimportant. Inner beauty is what matters. If that is the case, a blind person may be the best judge of beauty. Because it takes a very strong person to overlook beauty.
But what is it really like? I received a lot of positive attention over the years and sometimes special treatment. People exclaiming how beautiful I am, that I should be a model. My mom took me to private modeling classes, I got the headshots, was taught how to pose with poise, and was offered the opportunity to be a model. I turned it down and really had no passion for it at all.
There is a dark side to beauty. It is dangerous. You have to take extra caution regarding your safety. I have been followed home multiple times. There was a guy that I mentioned previously who passed the semi in the pouring rain on a 2 lane highway in a no passing zone to get my number. Creapy! And another man that followed me 10 miles, when my oldest was a baby in the car, down deserted rural roads. Thank God I had a bag phone in my car. I called my husband and gave him the guy’s plate numbers. The guy saw me pick up my phone and passed me.
Or that time I went swimming with a friend as a teen and a guy came up and grabbed at me. He wouldn’t leave me alone until I promised to hook up with him later on that night. I didn’t.
Or my friend’s fiancé who said I looked so hot that he wanted to take me in the bedroom and rape me. He said that in front of a group of guys. I decided not to stand up in their wedding. He was a cheater and the marriage didn’t last.
Or the pastor when I said my extended family was going through a hard time couldn’t look me in the eye, ignored my requests for prayer, and refused to talk to me. Grow up!
Or the co-worker who sexually harassed me in my summer factory job whenever I looked straight ahead by making vulgar gestures with his hands and mouth.
Or the time that a blind date took one look at me and physically ran away. After feeling rejected and crying to be told later that he was afraid because he heard I was into modeling.
Or by trying to defy beauty, pretend it didn’t matter, and saying yes to go out with the ugliest guy in school in utter defiance of beauty to find out it did matter.
Or being stalked by ex-boyfriends when out with other guys. Like the time my ex had my name announced over the loudspeaker at the county fair to meet up with him. Trying to hide my car. Having a rose left under my windshield wiper when I woke up in the morning. Being watched at work.
Or being cat called while walking down the street, getting my mail, or running.
Or going out with friends to be grabbed, grinded on, touched unwantedly, or bought endless drinks. Believe me saying that you are a lesbian to dissuade them does not work.
Or being verbally or physically attacked by other girls who think their boyfriends are spending too much time gazing upon you. So I ended up being chased by a large amount of scum bags who judged me only by my looks and hated by women that felt threatened by my looks.
Or receiving special treatment from a handsome, young, married high school teacher who told me how grown up I looked. He always winked at me and called me miss while addressing the other girls by their first names.
Or the guy that said he would take me to a Poison concert if I would sleep with him.
Or the time I had to lock myself in my mom’s car to fend off boys with condoms.
I am ready to retire and am handing the baton down to my beautiful 17 year old daughter who has already been stalked, followed home, and hated by less fortunate girls. Feel blessed if you have a little above average looks. That is the sweet place. Don’t worry about the couple of extra pounds that you need to lose. Rip up the plastic surgery ads. Don’t fall for the trap of promised beauty. It really isn’t worth it! Rejoice in your imperfections because there you will find true beauty. A person who can love you for who you really are.