Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder
I was sitting at dinner the other night with a man on my right and a man on my left. If anyone had walked in, they would have noticed the one on my right because of his classic good looks – tall, square jaw, nice smile – but the man on my left had my attention for the entire evening. How do you define beauty? The man on my left looks into my eyes and pierces [at least] the first layer of me – it’s the law of attraction – chemistry – that zing.
This evening, I was returning from Pilates, which in and of itself was so challenging that I wanted to hang my head in defeat, and a truck pulled up beside me as I was listening to the 20th anniversary of Fresh Air. The guy rolled down his window as if to ask me a question so I rolled down the passenger side – he said, “I just wanted to tell you that you are beautiful.”
Aw shucks – I said – you’re sweet.
Beauty definitely is in the eyes of the beholder because at that moment I was a woman with a few too many extra pounds on me, with my brow furrowed from looking at the road without my glasses, and hair that needed something.
Maybe all he saw was a red head in a pick-up truck.