I'm Just Me

I’M JUST ME, DON’T PAY CLOSE ATTENTION.

OK – NOW YOU CAN LOOK!

I was told I am beautiful today. It was sweet to say, it was nice to hear. He had few teeth and I suspect he is homeless. He probably just wanted something – maybe he was just being social. Or maybe he truly thought so. Whatever it was, it was better than being told I look common. A memory that came quickly to mind. A memory that comes to mind that makes me smile as it is so ridiculous. But I also simultaneously notice that I so quickly sabotage a compliment with something hurtful. They were just words I had heard before from a man who vowed his life to mine. I can hear it still though the years are many since I stood there in the kitchen “Don’t you want my opinion?” I tell him no but he has to say it anyway. “I think you look common.” My clothes were new and I loved the way I looked. It was the first time in years that I had started to take an interest in my appearance again. Maybe that is what he sensed. I just thanked him for his opinion and walked out the door for work.

I look back over the years and several memories come to my mind. Some bring laughter shared between myself and my closest friends in the world. It was a weekend in March that celebrated my birthday. My best friend flew out from Seattle – we share the same birthday month. My other closest friend lives down the street from me. We we’re to spend the weekend in Chicago celebrating and having fun. And we did. To this day we laugh non stop, gasping for air, tears streaming down our faces as we recall the events of that weekend that some would respond in disbelief that it actually happened. We tend to keep our stories to ourselves for that reason. But today I’ll share just a little with you – but I promise – it really did happen.

We were staying at the Hilton in Chicago – The Palmer House known for its elegance and style. We were a bit miffed when we got into the room and found staples rusting in the toilet, water in the ice bucket, and used soap in the shower. We quickly expressed our dissatisfaction and the hotel was prompt to send someone up to get the room up to the standard that they like to be known for. The man seemed friendly and smiled a great deal. He was from Nigeria. He began chatting with us and quickly into the conversation asked each of us if we were ever married or have children. Well I couldn’t say no to either one. Neither could my friend from Seattle, but one of us could. With her consecutive no’s he zoned in on her as if she were the last bottle of beer at a super bowl party. It was so obvious that after our blank stares at him we had to fight the laughter – easy for my friend and I who had to answer yes. Not so easy for the victim. He was staring her in the face as he was pontificating on his philosophy on love which made all of this 10x worse. He was clearly done with the tasks at hand but not finished with his philosophy so he moved over to the desk and picked up the binder of services and began to dust it over and over as he continued on not breaking his eye contact with our friend. FINALLY he left, and we fell out. I’m sure he heard us laughing as he walked down the hall. We couldn’t help it.

It was the next morning and we were hungry and decided to get something to eat. We knew of this diner around the corner. We were seated toward the back in a round booth. I was nearest the end with my two other friends more towards the middle of the u shaped booth. Maybe this made me an easy target – I’ll never know. Our waiter came over to us and was very talkative right from the start and attempted to engage us. At first glance, he’s had a hard life and probably smokes due to his skin. He looks dirty – do you know what I mean? The kind of skin tone that even if you scrub it with comet it still looks dirty? It usually is indicative of a life of drinking and smoking. Anyway, he looks harmless and seems like he’s making an effort to be nice and we girls have never been one to turn down a lively conversation that would showcase our humor or show the promise of a fun conversation so we bantered back and forth with him. Nothing out of the ordinary but we chuckled at his jokes – not a laugh mind you – he wasn’t that funny but enough for the obligatory couple of chuckles. It was time to order. The other two ordered and now it was my turn. I hate eggs – another story for another time – so ordering breakfast is sometimes a struggle. French toast is usually a safe bet – as long as the eggs aren’t too thick. Usually there is some kind of fruit that you can order that goes on top of the French toast. So I simply said “Does anything come on the French toast?” And with that opened the door for what was about to come. “I’ll sit on your French toast for you.” I looked at him with a face that lacked any expression. I thought to myself “what did he just say?” Then I made the worst possible decision of that moment – I looked at my girlfriends. It was over. We burst out laughing at the absurdity of his comment. Only he thought that we were laughing “with” him. I looked at him and finally said “No I mean is there any fruit that I can order with the French toast?” Then he said “Well I don’t know but I’ll come on your French toast for you.” Then as if that wasn’t enough he continued on talking about his prowess in the bedroom and how he is “1/2 Italian and ½ Greek and you know what they say about Italian men.” I mean he would not shut up – he kept going on. He put our order in, attend to other people and then come back and talk to us. I just sat there in disbelief, my girlfriends giggling now slowing down as we begin to think to ourselves “Oh my God – is he serious? Is he taking himself that seriously? Ok – now it’s just EW.” He walks away and I look at my girls and we just look at each other as if to say “did that just happen?” And then we can’t help it – we laugh – not because it was funny but because it was so incredibly inappropriate and unbelievable. I mean – who does that?

Later that day we are coming out of a shop and there is a big burly man handing out free papers. He has a big smile and is friendly to all who make eye contact with him. Then….he spots us. He zeros in on me. I’m thinking “please let there be someone behind me please let there be someone behind me.” Nope. It’s me. He approaches me, smiles so big I can see every tooth in his head and says “You have the prettiest smile. I would ask you for your phone number if I had a job.” I smile at him and say thank you. Then I try to get the hell out of there. But he won’t stop talking. He continues to tell me how pretty I am and how he wished he had a job so that he could ask for my phone number. I try as graciously as I can to leave. I finally see my break and I take it. My girlfriends are in hysterics and I simply say to them “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH THE UNIVERSE TODAY?” I can’t hold it back any longer and I’m laughing too. Do we get the good looking men who might be potential dates? Even the average Joe who might be a great person who sweeps you off your feet? No.

The weekend went on and that night while out on the town a couple of guys approached us and asked us what we do. Now they were obviously drunk and this would be the moment when we would make up a career and give fake names but these guys obviously wouldn’t know the difference and the truth of the matter was that our current profession is one that we would have probably chosen anyway. So we told them. “We’re psychologists.” Immediately they said “Cool can you write prescriptions.” We told them no and while we’re not sure why because they could hardly focus their eyes let alone their attention but nevertheless we attempted to explain the difference between a psychologist and a psychiatrist. As soon as we were finished they said “Cool can you write prescriptions?” We looked at each other and rolled our eyes and with timing that would rival men’s synchronous diving, we both reached for a napkin, got a pen and proceeded to ask them what they wanted and wrote prescriptions for them on the bar napkins. They were happy and left us alone.

There were a number of pick ups on my girlfriends as well that rivaled mine. We would just look at each other then try to look at ourselves to see if we remembered to dress before leaving or if maybe someone put a sign on us while we weren’t looking. Nope….it was just us.

It was a weekend that we will never forget and to this day when I tell my girlfriends about a potential date we go through the criteria: Is he homeless? Does he have a job? How many teeth does he have? Does he work for the carnival? After I give a no to every question they say – well then you know he’s not going to be interested – he’s just not you’re type. I agree and we all laugh as we remember once again the weirdest weekend of our lives.

But thank God there were other men who were interested in me and would ask me out. They were normal looking, employed, funny and a great conversationalist. I would continue to date, looking for my match. But never taking seriously comments starting with “you are so…..”

A little while ago I was told I looked radiant. We were walking together in a store and he just looked at me. He is my friend and I adore our friendship. What I wanted to do was walk to him, kiss him and tell him thank you. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. But instead I quickly changed the focus – uncomfortable with the attention. But then to kiss him no matter how innocent would be to break a promise I made to myself. But that is another story for another day.

Why do I do that? Why can’t I just be open and receive it? I can’t just say thank you with a tender kiss. No I pretend as if it’s not a thang. Do I believe it? Do I believe that I am beautiful? Honestly? No, I’m not beautiful. A while ago, if I were to be asked to describe myself it would be cute. I might give you pretty – but never beautiful. I didn’t think it was a bad thing. I liked being cute maybe even more than the idea of being beautiful. So it wasn’t because I feel bad about myself or feel that I’m ugly, I’m just realistic. That’s what I tell myself.

Lately, over the last couple of years that opinion has slowly been changing – or maybe maturing. Maybe as I get older I begin to see myself in a different light. Not one that is easily described but easily appreciated. Sort of like looking young. When I was 15 I HATED looking like I was 10. When I was 18 I HATED looking 12. When I was in my early 20’s I HATED looking 15 and so on. Now that I’m knockin on 40…….I’m LOVIN it. So as I “mature” and I start to see myself in a little different light, things start to change.

I’ve been divorced for 5 years now. I’ve been dating more and more as the time goes on. Men started telling me that I was pretty, and then I was beautiful. I would blush and quickly change the subject not allowing for any further discussion on the topic. I was embarrassed and on the very deepest of levels didn’t believe them at all. In fact I must admit that my feminist bones wanted to roll my eyes and stare them down until they admitted it was a line. But the rest of me just quietly dismissed the thought – and quickly.

But then I began to really pay attention and something happened. I would look deep into their eyes. Something began to say that maybe they really thought so. I would go home and look at myself in the mirror. All I could see were my faults. Nothing great. Just average cuteness. “I don’t get it.” I would say as I walk out of the bathroom. But I couldn’t keep denying the sincerity of the men who sought me out, wanted to get to know me and wanted more from me than I could give. Save one. But that’s a story already told on these pages.

Today I continue to date. Now it’s been said that I’m beautiful, radiant, thick (which apparently is a compliment), and even fine. I still want to roll my eyes and say under my breath, “yeahhhhhhhhh sure you’re right” I mean seriously – let’s not take it too far. But then I have to stop myself.

And I ask:

Who am I? Who am I to say to someone else that what they see is wrong? Who am I to tell someone that what they perceive and what they find attractive is incorrect? Don’t we all agree that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? So who is it that I think I am? What is so wrong with being beautiful in someone’s eyes? Isn’t that what I’m looking for? Sometimes I laugh to and at myself.

Men can’t win for trying. We want them to find us pretty and attractive and then when they try to express it we tell them they are wrong. I could go on about that – men and women and how we relate to one another but that’s another theory for another day………

For now let’s return to the original thought…..

I was trying to tell someone else what they are supposed to think and feel. I can’t deny it. I can’t put it any other way that lessons the sting for to do so would be to forget where not to step. I have always firmly believed that everyone is entitled to their opinions and thoughts – right? So how do I explain this? I can’t and I have to let it go. I have to stop doing this. Then I have to wonder – do I do this in any other situation?

I start to look them in the eyes and appreciate that they not only see me as beautiful but that they wanted to tell me. If it is a game or a line then that will reveal itself in time – or for some – immediately. But for now in this moment it was a kind and thoughtful thing to say. And for that I thank you. I still might blush and I still might be embarrassed. But I believe you. I believe that in your eyes, I am beautiful and for that I smile. In this moment I am beautiful…………in the morning – not so much……………but then there I go again putting myself down through a sad attempt at humor. So with that in mind, I’ll stop and instead look you in the eyes, smile, gently kiss you on the cheek and whisper thank you.

Much Love,
Mariah