**Note: Okay, guys--I have changed my mind numerous times about whether or not I should post this. (I actually wrote this back on June 19th, but I've never actually put it up on the blog.) But, I feel like the writing t'aint bad, and the sentiments I express herein are valid, so I think it's time to get this up where the public can see it. I know this is bitter. I was in a bitter mood when my brain conceived this. BUT, read it anyway. I'm not bitter at the moment, so this post isn't currently painful--just interesting.**
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I've realized that I'll never be one of those "Lady in Red" type of girls. I'll never dance to a slow Frank Sinatra song and bedazzle my partner with my womanly wiles and charm. I'll never stun a man with my beauty as I stand in a meadow with my face turned slightly away from him, watching the sun go down.
No, no. I never will.
No man will ever write a song about me, explaining how he pined for years, and had his poor little heart torn in two when he watched me walk away beside another guy. I'll never have two men fight it out to the death over my honor. And, if I ever have the chance to try to slip my foot into a glass slipper, the only way I'm going to stick the sucker in there is by chopping off something. (Thank you, grisly Grimm brothers.)
You know, it's funny. Girls are funny, specifically. We watch romantic movies and read romantic novels and chat with each other exuberantly about how romantic our lives really should be...but aren't.
Even so, I have the vague suspicion that some girls out there really do play the romantic leads in their very own chick flicks. Luckies. They're the mustangs of the girl-world, the corvettes, the one thing a man desires above anything else in the world--the one thing he would give his whole heart to.
And me? I'm a dump truck. Useful in my own way, but hardly the thing to get someone's heart-rate up.
15 comments:
Amen, sister.
HEY! We should start a "dump truck" club. I'll totally join!
(And, yes, I have many, many days like this too.
Tee hee. My wored verification is pyonx. It sounds like a type of snake.
Sorry, girls. You've got it all wrong.
Sometimes I groan about it, but romance is my parents sitting together, both divorced, trying to figure out if there's any way they could make a blended family with ten kids work financially, and my Chinese-American dad telling my mom "You look beautiful by computer light".
Romance is Mont's tenderness to Vivian at a time in life where personal beauty as the world sees it has been folded into so many age-wrinkles that it becomes obvious how irrelevant it is to true love.
Romance teaches people how to see beauty-spots in unlikely places, but anyone who has ever visited a desert oasis or seen a beautiful garden in the middle of a slum knows that those beauty spots contain the real truth of the whole picture.
And now I'm going to slam you, but it needs to be said. Who are you to decide you're not beautiful anyhow? Who made you immune to romance? You haven't been seen by the right eyes yet...partially because your own eyes are so convinced of your ugliness that you shove other people away from perceiving your beauty. I may not be male, but I do know a thing or two about beauty since it has been one of my life-long chief delights. You have your particular beauty points in your goldenness, in your eyes and hair that reflect so freely in their honey color the sweetness and warmth that is in your nature.
To be blunt, shut up already about your ugliness. I don't buy it.
I don't really mean the rudeness. I understand the pain that's there. It's normal to doubt yourself. But can you trust me enough to check and see what's there, and not negate the beauty because beauty's not the only thing there?
I think anyone whose love you'd really value would be the sort who knows how to look past the obvious and see the truthful complete panorama.
The real question is whether he is astute enough to see that beauty past your conviction of ugliness. As long as you buy in to the myth that you aren't made for romance, can he be blamed for believing you?
I guess I definitely should have listened to my better judgement and NOT posted this.
Ouch. (Although it's a bit like being complimented & slammed at the same time, so thanks too, I guess.)
No way, I'm glad you posted this. It is interesting, and if it ever was painful, all the more reason to let it out. Worrying about how other people will react to your raw, uncensored reality is, for lack of a better word, silly. Of course, everyone who knows you and loves you will not hesitate to show you their uncensored reality by slapping you upside the head because you're wonderful and beautiful and don't seem to realize it.
As a sidenote, I'm only interested in Romance with a capital R, so I couldn't care less whether I'm a Ferrari or a moped.
Okay--I'm sorry, I just keep dwelling on this.
Cathy, while I appreciate what you expressed, (I really, really do--it's the mark of a true friend to try to get me to believe that I'm not ugly :^) ), still...I don't think you fully get what I was saying here.
This is really how I feel sometimes. It doesn't matter if it's accurate or not, or if I might be beautiful to the right person--this is just how I perceive myself sometimes.
To kind of illustrate where I was coming from, I will refer you to a post I'd read on one of my favorite blogs back in April. (I originally wrote the "Dump Truck" post back in June, so you can see that I stewed over the following post for some time before writing something in response to it.)
Anyway--here's the link: http://blandwagon.blogspot.com/2006/04/agony.html#comments
When I read that post, the only thing I could think was, "My gosh. This is talking about me."
Now, before you guys go all "No, no, of COURSE he wasn't talking about you--he's in Australia, for crying out loud, so unless you've gone on a fabulous Aussie adventure without telling anyone, there's no way he knows you...and besides, you aren't particularly loud or needy..." let me again refer you to paragraph 3 of this comment.
Okay. So, I came across this rather painful reminder of how a person like me is generally viewed by society, and I just crumpled internally. And, eventually, the only thing I could compare myself to was a dump truck. Weird? Yes. But I felt like one. Completely unattractive and possibly repulsive and disgusting. Ick.
I felt like the only way to protect myself was to internalize what this person said so that I would never hope for anything ever, and so that I would never act that way myself. That way, I could avoid both disgust and disappointment. Hooray!
To own the truth, I no longer feel this way, at least not entirely. I don't feel like a dump truck at the moment, (I even read this guy's blog again), although I guess my point is that I could feel like a dump truck again sometime in the future.
There are little pieces of these feelings that I carry with me all the time, and they aren't going to go away just because I'm told they should. (Although, again, I appreciate the telling.)
And hey--just because I'm frequently convinced I'm ugly doesn't mean I feel like I don't have value. I'm just a valuable person who happens to be unattractive. And that's okay. Or rather, I guess I wish it were okay to be ugly & feel ugly. Maybe it just isn't.
Oh! Hey, Libby! You must've posted this while I was typing my lengthy tirade.
Thanks to you too, and again--ouch for the slap upside the head.
Although, AGAIN, people--this was something I wrote back in June, which was AGES ago. Yeah. So...slap my June self, not my August self, because hey--I am HOT in this new hairdo! :^)
Okay. Now, nobody's offended, right? Mostly?
If you're offended, just count to 10 and breathe deeply and eat some ice cream and then read my other posts and remember just how charming I can be.
Okay. Now I will go to bed.
And fret.
(Blast--I HATE fretting.)
You will still be my friends, right?
Ack! Ack! Pitiful neediness! Nevermind.
How bizarre, one of the people who commented on that blog entry mentioned mopeds, too...
Oh, and I'm not offended. Your past self is entitled to her feelings. I've made my opinion known, but I realize it's irrelevant. Rock on with your bad self, Beth.
Er, that was me.
Here's my response from the sunlit world. Sorry if I came on too strong. Maybe I didn't convey clearly enough the fact that I have felt this way...and that the most gorgeous people I know well have felt this way. Often, a recognition of ugliness IS necessary. Madeleine L'Engle, in her Crosswicks journals, talks about how most people hide away their darkness, trying to be a little like the unseen side of the moon, and that recognition of that darkness is part of becoming a whole person.
I think I responded so strongly because I was angry. Understand that I am your friend, and I like listening to you. That doesn't stop me from repudiating some of the things you might say when I don't agree with them. The feeling is real, and sometimes it just helps to talk about it. But darkness does need to be followed by sunlight. I think I was just worried that you'd believe the darkness so much that you wouldn't let the sun out, and that rich goldness that typifies how I see you doesn't belong forever in darkness or gloom. I was trying to chase away that June darkness as quickly as possible--not really considering the fact tha it was already gone.
You know, there may actually be barbie girls out there who live their own chick flicks, but I'm sure glad I'm not one of 'em. I like my reality a lot better. My husband is geeky and kind of goofy, and it's a darn good thing because so am I.
Aragorn and Mr. Darcy are fun to watch and all, but if I'd actually married one of them life wouldn't have been nearly as fun. Sure, one of them speaks Elvish and the other looks dashing in his long duster coat, but Phillip makes better smoothies and does a great Darth Vader impression.
Honestly, Beth, I think you'd get bored with some cliche, staring-moodily-into-the-distance romance. You're too unique for that, and your man will be, too.
You know, if you're going to compare yourself to anything, it ought to be a 1909-S Indian Head penny in Very Good condition. Some people may not recognize its value, but a guy who knows what he's looking at will say "Do you know how hard it is to find one of these?! Dang, how'd I get so lucky?"
Real romance isn't living a cliche; it's sharing your uniqueness with someone who matches and appreciates it.
Thanks, guys. I like what sunlight brings. Especially since that 3am this past night was a bit bleak.
you FREAKING ROCK! and remind me if i EVER make in to Your work, to go on a very bloated, very pimple fied day! lol... i want you to be the Mighty ONE! oh you are SOOOO funny! because if i have learned anything about you since meeting you, it has been the REAL you- the person INSIDE- and i STILL don't stinking know what you look like...
Can i just come at this AWSOME topic at a different angle- yes"? good!
can i JUST say- im sick of being a "piece of Meat?" a THING to whistle at? at STARE at? i mean UGH! i remeber before i met my hubby- (im not kiding) NO one asked me out... my dad would sit there and LAUGH because no one would attempt it! they always thought- i would say no- blah blah.. i was SOOO loneley! and im NOT kidding... AND i never KEPT friends either! they were always so timid, and wierd cause they LOOKED different.. SO WHAT?!
i have two words to help ALL OF US- "Romance Novels"
LOL! And romantic movies. Such as Pride & Prejudice....MMMM....delicious delectable Darcy. :^)
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