High School Redux

I don't know what it is, but there is something about leggy blondes that make me feel instantly inferior. What is it about these women that somehow make you feel like you're a . . . slug? At least they do me. And if you're one of these women, well, please share your secrets! You can tell just looking at them, that they were once high school cheerleaders. I don't know what they have -- call it a "presence," a lucky draw from the gene pool, or just because they were born beautiful that they have such self-posession, such a sense of rightness of being, if that makes any sense? Anyone who was ever a geek or nerd in high school knows exactly what I mean, even if I can't verbalize it here properly. You just know . . . you KNOW . . . that these women were cheerleaders in high school. They just have that "IT" . . . that something, that charmed life that makes perfectly normal men become babbling idiots and everything falls into place for them. Ugh. Gotta hate 'em. On sight. With no knowledge of them personally, you HAVE to hate 'em. Jealous? You betcha. Oh yeah, 100% jealous. Skinny bitch. But I'm not bitter . . . . HA!!

And as I write that, tongue firmly planted in cheek, I have to tell you what made me think of this on this gorgeous Sunday afternoon, besides the angst of it being 14 hours and 35 minutes until I have to be at work again (but who's counting?!?). Bill and I went to Burger Hut (the new one on the corner of Lassen Ave. & Cohasset) for a late lunch this afternoon. Bill and I were eating outside, and as I was coming out the door after getting a refill on my soda, one of those "leggy blondes" was leaving the patio area with her family. Here I was, walking along, minding my own business, feeling pretty good about my life and myself, and I walked out that door and saw her, and instantly felt 16 years old again, tall, awkward, and incredibly band geeky. This woman wasn't drop dead gorgeous, but she just had that perfect, soccer mom look. She was 30-something, tall (I am 5'11" and she must have been close to 5'8") but even after the two kids she'd had (they were cute, too -- a girl about 11 and a boy about 8 or 9) she was slim. Not skinny, but that perfect figure that she probably got back 5 minutes after giving birth. She had that swingy blond mane, shoulder length, perfectly coiffed (why can't I ever get my hair to look like that?!?!?) and perfectly highlighted (definitely a professional job). She was pretty, and damn it, she even looked like she was probably NICE! *sigh*. Life is SO not fair. She even smelled good. She had the perfect husband, the perfect kids (one of each sex) and probably had the perfect job and the perfect house. Perfect life. I, on the other hand, upon exiting the door of the restaurant and passing her, felt like an instant frump. I felt old, fat, and ugly. And like a loser. Exactly how I used to feel when encountering one of those cheerleader types in high school. Like I was invisible. Then I realized that if she was 35, she was four years old when I graduated from high school. And I felt even worse.

So I schlepped over to my table, to see my wonderful husband smiling up at me with eyes only for me, and I was redeemed. I felt instantly 100% better. She can have her 1.2 kids, and perfect life in the suburbs with her perfect kids from a non-divorced family, and her perfect soccer mom SUV. I've got Bill and he thinks I'm wonderful. He thinks I'm beautiful and doesn't care that I am a pound or two (or 80) over my ideal weight. He just loves me. And that's enough for me.