Friday, November 11, 2011
I was going in the large grocery store doors yesterday and a beautiful young woman was coming out. we passed each other through the door. as most gals do i couldn't help noticing her, weighing myself by her standard and found wanting. she had perfectly highlighted and flat ironed hair. she was wearing great clothes that i doubt came from her local friendly goodwill. she had a killer bag that made mine shrink under my arm in shame due to something sticky being spilled in the bottom and the fact that i had a two day old string cheese in there somewhere. she had a rocking shape that boasted of either daily grueling workouts at the gym or an envious metabolism. i suddenly remembered that the last time i set foot in a gym was to pick up my daughter from swim practice and i had a mocha with whipped cream in hand at the time. like most (insecure) women do, i took all this in in the three seconds it took for us to pass one another. my eyes glanced down at her feet without seeming to do so as i confiscated control of the door and she took it from me.
beautiful high heels of course. why don't i grocery shop in high heels?
one was black, the other brown.
the same style. exactly.
she must have bought two pairs. maybe a sale? maybe just insanely comfortable shoes?
but two distinctly different colors.
and i smiled, but not in a mean-girl way, just in a maybe-we're-all-put-together-with-elmer's-glue-like-our-preschooler's-cut-out-paper-dolls.
and i realized maybe my mom, and your mom, and you when you say it to your kids, are right. nobody's perfect, child.