I got the flu!
Horrible, horrible flu. And I had no one to look after me so I experienced those rare moments where I cursed myself for being single. A boyfriend might actually be useful at times like these – to go to the pharmacist‘s for me, make me some tea, bring me more tissues and stroke my forehead gently. Then again, would a boyfriend actually do all that?
I remember a friend of mine being more than a little unimpressed when her boyfriend refused to visit her while she was sick, as he didn‘t want to catch the bug himself.
Anyways, I looked in the mirror this morning and was glad again about the fact that I live alone, I don‘t want anyone to see me in this state. Give me a couple of days, allow me to expose myself to some daylight...and have a shower, and I‘ll be fabulous again.
Talking about being fabulous, there‘s one thing about the notion about looks that makes me absolutely furious. And this time I‘m not talking about the demand for us all to be on the verge of being anorexic, having at least C cups boobs, glowing of fake tan and blinding people with our shiny, white teeth. No, I’m talking about the notion that any woman is grateful for any attention and compliment she gets for her looks.
As if we don’t know it ourselves when we look good and when not. As if other people’s opinion is the only way we can know for sure if we’re hot or not.
According to this confusing BMI thingie, I‘m apparently on the wrong side of my ideal weight margin, quite a bit far from it actually. And I don‘t need padded bras. But I try to keep fit so that I at least can run for the bus without fainting and walk up a few flights of stairs without being sweaty and out of breath when I reach my destination. Yet, when I look in the mirror I see a good looking, healthy woman. And when I dress up and put on make-up, to bring out my beautiful, blue eyes or to make my kissable lips even more kissable, I see a beautiful woman in the mirror, I can see it for myself. I know how to dress so that my curvaceous body looks its best and so, when I go out after having spent abundant time on my hair, make-up and outfit, I simply know that I’m drop-dead-gorgeous and sexy-as-hell. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have gone through all that trouble!
Therefore, a compliment from some drunk, drooling stranger in a bar doesn’t do anything for me, I don’t need a verification from the likes of him to know I’m a knock-out.
And, as I’ve stated before, men can never hide their interest, we sense the looks as soon as we walk into a room, even though we appear to be completely oblivious. We know when guys want nothing more than get their hands on us because we look gorgeous, and sometimes we even let them, if we’re in the mood.
But when I’m getting to know a guy, really trying to get to know him to see if there’s any potential there for us, in other areas than just the bedroom, I don't need to hear compliments about my looks, there's plenty of time for those later. If I meet a man in a bar or a party and within ten minutes he says something positive about my looks, he’s lost his chance. Of course I already know that he likes what he sees (or he wouldn’t be having this conversation) but if he really thinks I’ll be flattered if he pays me a compliment based on my appearances, he probably thinks I’m either very shallow or have a really low self-esteem.
Am I really supposed to think more of him and be grateful if he likes my hair? Well, he’d better because I spent ages getting it just right! Does his opinion matter all that much? Is he some sort of an expert or a stylist? No.
Some of my friends and family members also often bring my attention to the fact that some guy thinks I’m cute. ‘You know, Steve’s friend, Charlie, saw you at that meeting the other day and says you’re really cute. Do you want me to give him your number?’ Why on Earth would I want that? Do Charlie and I have anything in common at all? You have no idea? Oh, you don’t know him that well? I see. Sure, send me on a date with someone who could be an alcoholic, a gambler, a drug dealer, dangerous or a total loser...just because he thinks I’m cute. Why not?!
Lines such as ‘You’ve got the craziest eyes I’ve ever seen’ or ‘Damn, you’re hot!’ don’t actually do anything for me. If, however, after a short conversation I get compliments for being smart, witty, clever, funny, intelligent, interesting, articulate...well, then we’re on the same page! That’s when I get flattered and give the guy a little bit more of my time and attention, that is if I find him intelligent, funny and interesting too.
