How is it that someone can be incredibly beautiful and entirely unattractive?
Sitting here after finishing breakfast at the local dive, in walks a gorgeous young man, maybe twenty-five years old, sun bronzed-and-blonded with a tight T-shirt and an easy smile, snorting methodically to clear some blockage in his nasal cavity that apparently isn't worth a simple tissue.
Clearly he's a beautiful man, and just as clearly, he would be the first to tell you this. Well, maybe that's not fair. I don't really know if what he thinks about himself, beyond the messages he's sending by his manner of dress and how he's communicating to his party. But something about him just turns me off.
I wonder if it's jealousy? I've never felt like a head-turner in my life. While people have certainly told me I'm good looking, I've never really believed them, and usually have to prevent myself from correcting their mistaken observation. I've wondered, though, what must it be like to be beautiful. Not just good-looking, but beautiful. what must it be like to walk in to a room and know that the people are all staring at you not because your fly is down or they can't believe you think you're pulling off that haircut, but because you're so damn hot.
I was just talking with co-worker friends about a knockout named Eddie who works with us. when I see Eddie my first thought is always just "Damn..." My second is usually something like "He must get a ton of pussy!" My third then tends to be along the lines of "Shit, he saw me staring at him again." But what must that feel like?
I imagine the reality is far more mundane than the fantasy. I'm sure it's not strolling through the world like a pageant queen just waving at the adulation, or living like a mad king who points into a crowd declaring "I shall have that one, and that one, too." (Which I firmly believe Eddie can and has done). I'm sure there's all sorts of actual work that goes along with that, with the exercising and clothing expense and all. But the payoff seems like such a worthwhile goal that it makes me wish I could have it, too.
Which brings me back to jealousy. Am I jealous because I could really have all that if I put forth the effort? I'm fairly certain my body is built to carry lots of fantastic muscle, that my bone structure is pleasing to the majority of the community, that I have enough taste and spirit to cultivate an attractive style. But I haven't. Am I jealous of the ones who have? Is their achievement the bamboo under the fingernails constantly reminding me of what I could have had but just didn't try for?
Of course, I know the answer is to try. If I want the result, go through the process. If I want a lean body, I have to eat differently, move more. But sometimes I just want to sit back, eat a gravy-encrusted omelet and sneer at the pretty boy snorting his way through his morning because his flaw gives me something distracting to despise.
That puts me in a position I'm not fond of. I never liked when people would tear someone else down to make themselves feel better. It's a cop-out. If you can't love yourself, at least bring everyone else down to you so you're not alone at the bottom. It's even less awesome to find I do it, too.
So, Pretty-Boy with the nose issue: I'm sorry I focused on your weird flaw, instead of acknowledging the fact that you turned my head. You're hot. You deserve the attention without the negatives, because you've worked to earn it. Keep up the good work, because it's nice to stare at hot guys on a Sunday morning after breakfast at a dive restaurant. And if you want to point at me a declare "I shall have that one," I'm just fine with that. I'll bring the tissues.
Sitting here after finishing breakfast at the local dive, in walks a gorgeous young man, maybe twenty-five years old, sun bronzed-and-blonded with a tight T-shirt and an easy smile, snorting methodically to clear some blockage in his nasal cavity that apparently isn't worth a simple tissue.
Clearly he's a beautiful man, and just as clearly, he would be the first to tell you this. Well, maybe that's not fair. I don't really know if what he thinks about himself, beyond the messages he's sending by his manner of dress and how he's communicating to his party. But something about him just turns me off.
I wonder if it's jealousy? I've never felt like a head-turner in my life. While people have certainly told me I'm good looking, I've never really believed them, and usually have to prevent myself from correcting their mistaken observation. I've wondered, though, what must it be like to be beautiful. Not just good-looking, but beautiful. what must it be like to walk in to a room and know that the people are all staring at you not because your fly is down or they can't believe you think you're pulling off that haircut, but because you're so damn hot.
I was just talking with co-worker friends about a knockout named Eddie who works with us. when I see Eddie my first thought is always just "Damn..." My second is usually something like "He must get a ton of pussy!" My third then tends to be along the lines of "Shit, he saw me staring at him again." But what must that feel like?
I imagine the reality is far more mundane than the fantasy. I'm sure it's not strolling through the world like a pageant queen just waving at the adulation, or living like a mad king who points into a crowd declaring "I shall have that one, and that one, too." (Which I firmly believe Eddie can and has done). I'm sure there's all sorts of actual work that goes along with that, with the exercising and clothing expense and all. But the payoff seems like such a worthwhile goal that it makes me wish I could have it, too.
Which brings me back to jealousy. Am I jealous because I could really have all that if I put forth the effort? I'm fairly certain my body is built to carry lots of fantastic muscle, that my bone structure is pleasing to the majority of the community, that I have enough taste and spirit to cultivate an attractive style. But I haven't. Am I jealous of the ones who have? Is their achievement the bamboo under the fingernails constantly reminding me of what I could have had but just didn't try for?
Of course, I know the answer is to try. If I want the result, go through the process. If I want a lean body, I have to eat differently, move more. But sometimes I just want to sit back, eat a gravy-encrusted omelet and sneer at the pretty boy snorting his way through his morning because his flaw gives me something distracting to despise.
That puts me in a position I'm not fond of. I never liked when people would tear someone else down to make themselves feel better. It's a cop-out. If you can't love yourself, at least bring everyone else down to you so you're not alone at the bottom. It's even less awesome to find I do it, too.
So, Pretty-Boy with the nose issue: I'm sorry I focused on your weird flaw, instead of acknowledging the fact that you turned my head. You're hot. You deserve the attention without the negatives, because you've worked to earn it. Keep up the good work, because it's nice to stare at hot guys on a Sunday morning after breakfast at a dive restaurant. And if you want to point at me a declare "I shall have that one," I'm just fine with that. I'll bring the tissues.
