Too pretty

I have a problem that most people are not going to want to hear about.

I’m just too pretty.

No, no, don’t stop reading just yet. You may roll your eyes, but please understand, there are legitimate concerns about this.

Now, I’m not Helen of Troy-start-a-war-pretty, but pretty enough for it to be an inconvenience in living my life.

See, I’m Disney Princess pretty.

Yes, I can talk to birds.

Seriously, sometimes when I sing, the birds sing back.

The problems that arise with this are these:

  1. People always want to talk to me…on the subway, in airplanes, and God forbid I go have a drink at a bar with any friends—I recently went out, and the creeper who decided that my wedding ring, lack of makeup or styled hair, flock of gay men, and lack of eye contact meant that I wanted him to hug me.

Not so much.

I ended up excusing myself from the evening, which prompted this man to ask for a hug goodbye.

“I don’t hug strangers.”

He leaned toward me.

“I don’t hug strangers…seriously,” and backing away, I escaped, to the amusement of the aforementioned flock of gays.

    2. There is an assumption that I love all children, and would like their sticky fingers and whining in my life.

When I was teaching, I got at least 3 emails a week asking if I would take on a very talented 7 year old…there are lots of problems with teaching voice to children, which is another post for another time, but it made me wonder, do the other faculty receive such emails? Apparently not—they found the website, looked at the pictures, and assumed that my shiny golden hair would incite their children to sing to the birds, too.

I’ve actually had strangers in airports ask me to keep an eye on their kids while they run to the desk or the restroom or far, far away on an airplane…I don’t know how it is that I appear to be so trustworthy.

Now, I do enjoy children—my niece, the children of my friends…but children in general—strange children, in public places...well, it’s time for more hand sanitizer just thinking about it.

    3. That I am sweet and innocent.

Just read that sentence over again.

The people who read this blog who know me well are laughing hysterically. But they’ll have to admit, they all thought that of me that way the first day they met me too.

Until they heard my [expletive deleted] sailor mouth.

Michael once joked that he thought I had been replaced with a pirate captain when I was driving with him.

Yes, I know I shouldn’t complain about my beauty attracting so much [unwanted] attention, and that it is fleeting, and despite the sunscreen and carefully applied undereye products and sleeping in a giant Tupperware container, I shall awake one morning and the mice and birds won’t make the bed for me anymore (that’s totally what happens, right, Michael?).

But then I will be an old lady. A little old lady. A seemingly sweet little old lady that people will want to talk to, and share their children with, and watch their language around me…