I’ve always struggled with not feeling pretty enough, thin enough, enough enough. I’ve never been the kind of girl who makes men stammer or stare; the lingering double-take is not something I’m accustomed to. That’s ok, skin deep and all that. Not meeting the perception of the societal standard of beauty doesn’t (shouldn’t) devalue anyone. I’m smart, creative, loyal, kind etc. I’m a good person; that counts for a lot in my book.
But I’m still a girl. And girls secretly want a feller to take one look at her and say, wow, you’re beautiful. And no, we don’t want to hear it from our girlfriends, or our BFF’s husband, or the guy who’s entrenched himself firmly in the friend-zone. Those people know and love us; their perception is colored by who we are.
They say, be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.
Where is this going? I met a guy. (I bet you saw that coming.) He’s attractive and comes across as sweet and interesting. Normal. We barely know each other beyond a casual meeting and a few e-mailed correspondences. When he says I’m pretty, well gosh, he must truly think I’m good-looking, because he doesn’t know me well enough to know that I’m an awesome person. Well shucks!
Then I get this note: I really can’t wait to always be the one to smile at your beautiful face when you wake up in the morning.
Well that escalated rather quickly.
Dating is ridiculous.