Today's Flashback Friday blog takes us to the not so distant past.
(10/22/2010) Let me begin by saying that I know on the esoteric, self-help, "New Earth" level it is supposedly impossible for anyone to make you feel insecure or inferior or inept. We are responsible for our own emotions and reactions...blah, blah, blah...I get it. So, someone should tell HER. You know HER. Every workplace, junior high, college dorm, and, I would assume, retirement community has HER--the woman who seems to effortlessly make every other female look and feel like shit. The woman who could waltz in from a rainstorm and seem dew-kissed, while you could walk in behind her, after experiencing the same downpour, and look like a drowned rat. She can toss on any combination of clothes and look "boho chic." You in the same outfit would look like you'd escaped from a psych ward. And, she doesn't just look the part, she owns the role. She's successful--she always has the top sales, the top grades, the top ratings, and is on the top of everyone's guest list with an adoring mate and fawning friends and an array of exciting extracurricular activities.
We have one of these dangerous alien specimens at my office. I am quite certain she is either a government experiment in the Stepford wives vein or from Pluto. She arrives every day--I couldn't tell you exactly when since I have never managed to get there before her--with the latest fashions draped over her long, lean frame. They are perfectly pressed without so much as one errant animal hair or pick or speck of lint. Her make-up looks as if it has been airbrushed on by the team from Vogue. The only explanation for her shining and sleek coiffure is that she keeps a celebrity hairstylist chained to her bathroom sink. Even when she wears a ponytail it has the exact amount of tease on top and bounce to the back. Her desk in a study in organization and personalization with just enough family photos to keep up the appearance that she is indeed human, but not so many as to seem sentimental. I've seen her car in the parking lot. Despite the recent snow, mud, and salt, it is as gleaming as the pearly white teeth she flashes to her ardent admirers. On a personal level, I do not know this woman well. But, I do know that she always achieves and exceeds monthly goals, that her family is as flawless as she, that her body must require hours at the gym, that she seems to be well liked (or at least revered) by those around her. And I know that even if I gave up sleep all together, stopped drinking, and hired help, I still could not make it to work even one day a week looking like she does.
Am I bitter? Yes. Am I determined to one day find the antennae under her ponytail and end this cycle of space invader imposed inferiority? Absolutely!
(10/12/2012) So after two years, I actually bothered to talk to this creature. I am happy, and a little ashamed, to announce that she is not an alien. Quite the contrary, she is one of the most down-to-earth women in the entire office. She is not intentionally superior and stand-offish, as I first assumed. She is shy and, as a newly-single mom, incredibly focused on getting her work done so she can get home to her daughter. She has been through a year with the kind of loss that would make weaker women crumble, and has maintained grace throughout. She is also aware that she is oft judged solely on the way she looks without ever being given a chance to instead be judged by what she thinks, feels, and believes. I am guilty of not wanting to get anywhere near her for fear I’d be compared and fall short. By letting my insecurity turn me into a judgmental bitch, I’ve missed out on a friendship with a lovely lady. I won’t let it happen again.
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.