Goddesses and Doormats

This one is a bit long (1,499 words long not counting this sentence). Sorry.

My eyes change color depending on what I wear. They are some conglomerate of blue, green and grey. And what color shirt I wear determines which color is accented. I point this out because the other day I specifically choose to wear a green shirt to work.

You see, there is a man in my company who has a crush on me. Let’s call him, Ernie. He is a bit older than me and according to my coworker, he thinks that I am the greatest thing since sliced bread. Now I don’t mind Ernie’s admiration because I’ve said before, “The male ego has no sexual preference.” Besides it feels good to know that someone who is one, not a midget, and two, not an old grandmother, finds me attractive. (Side note: I went to the gym this week and there was a woman, who was short enough to qualify as a midget and appeared old enough to be a grandmother, who checked me out. Damnit!!! End Side Note.) If fact when he has seen me in this particular green shirt he has said me, “Jimmy! That shirt, your eyes, very sexy!!” To which I say, “Thank you, Ernie,” and smile.

Now Ernie was not in my office the day I wore that shirt this week. He has been at various other sites in my company. That made me a little sad because I was thinking of him, and his crush on me, as I was ironing the shirt that morning. The thought made me laugh. I normally don’t laugh before 8 AM (actually, I’m not capable of much before 8 AM), so that was a good thing.

I think it is important to know that someone finds us attractive, beautiful even. Because there are many times we can not see it in ourselves. And who cares if it is from someone that we wouldn’t go for in a millions years.

There was a time in my life where I just wanted to go up to every woman that I thought was beautiful and tell them that. I imagined the exchange would go something like this:

“Excuse me. May kindly ask your name?”

“It’s Sally.”

“Well, Sally. My name is Jim (Spider), and I just wanted to let you know that I think that you are beautiful. Good day.”

That would be it. Hopefully, it would make them smile. I wouldn’t try to pick them up or ask them out. That isn’t the purpose. I’m sure that I would have at least one woman ask me, “Wait! That’s it? That’s all you wanted to say? You don’t want my phone number?”

I’d reply, “Yes, that’s it. I mean, I’m not flirting with you. I don’t want your numbers. I don’t want to take you to dinner. I just wanted to let you know that I think that you are beautiful. That way when you are having a day when you feel at your worst and that there is no one in the world who would appreciate you, you can remember and tell yourself, “Well, Jim (Spider) thinks I’m beautiful.” And you can hold onto that truth until you believe it yourself again.”
(Then again, they may think me a nutcase and have me arrested.)

I did actually use a variant of this one time. I had hooked up with this theatre girl one night and the next day we were shopping in Waccamaw, a big house decorating store. (Oh, you may have started to see a pattern here with me and theatre girls in college. To be honest, I found most of them to be the most attractive girls on campus. They were talented, danced, sang. . .just was musician wants in a woman. Now if my undergraduate school had all the guitar slinging girls my graduate school did, then I would never have dated outside the music department.) So this girl, since she was small and pixie-ish, was sitting inside the shopping cart that I was pushing around. We were off by ourselves somewhere. I don’t remember how the conversation got to this point, but she says, “I’m nothing. I’m just trash.” At that point I stop the cart, tilted her head back, and said, “Nancy, ‘there are two kinds of woman in the world, goddesses and doormats.’ So long as one man worships your beauty, you are a goddess. And I know I can not be the only one. Never forget that.” With that I gave her an upside down kiss and she was silent for a few minutes. I think I even heard her sniffle.

I often wonder if she still remembers that interchange. I hope she does and that it still makes her feel good inside. (The quote that I used was by Pablo Picasso. And her name wasn’t Nancy. I think some of her friends may be reading this blog so I want to keep her identity somewhat secret.)

I never really got fully into telling people that they were beautiful. At the point where I felt like I really wanted to do it, and had gotten past any fear I may have had inside, I was dating someone steady and she was quite the jealous one. So I kept my thoughts to myself lest she thought I was flirting with other women. The truth was at the time that I was so into her that I really couldn’t consider flirting with someone else. Flirting implies trying to get something or somewhere. This would have been me just trying to touch someone else’s soul in a positive manner.

I say it way because a number of the girls that I wanted to tell that they were beautiful were in that phase where you can see that they were unsure of themselves. However, I could see what they were on the inside, and what they becoming, and that . . .that was where their beauty lay. I mean, for the guys reading this, what if someone woman told you that you were beautiful, or sexy, or attractive during those times when you were unsure of yourself? It’d really boost your confidence, wouldn’t it?

One night, during my “super-senior” year an older woman called my room. She was this amazingly attractive woman that I worked with, and she was a bit drunk. She proceeds to tell me what she would do to me if she wasn’t married, and if I wasn’t a student and if she didn’t work at the college. Like I needed anything more to fuel the fantasies I was having of her already! The next time I saw her, when she was sober, it was a bit awkward at first, but we smoothed things out. I told her that it really felt good to know that a someone did want me, particularly because of our age difference (I was 21 and she was 35, I think). It gave me hope that I would find someone out there, someone hopefully as sexy as she was. Nothing ever happened between “Mrs. Robinson” and I, but I keep those positive feelings with me to this day.

So what is holding me back now from telling those that I think are beautiful that they are? Nothing really. I have started telling some people. I just need to now get the courage to say it to the people I really don’t know. In New York, having a stranger come up to you and start talking is not the accepted norm. And I don’t want the person to come of thinking that I’m some nut-job. (Which they will come to know anyway once they get to know me.)

I want to person to feel that I’m being sincere, like I know Ernie is when I wear the green shirt. I’m straight, and Ernie is in a committed relationship, so there is less than a snowball’s chance in hell that anything would ever happen between us. It’s because of this, I know the sincerity of Ernie’s comment. He has nothing to gain by telling me that I’m “very sexy.”

Well, he does gain one thing. Seeing the smile on my face.
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Ok Class, if you’ve read this far you now have to do the homework assignment. I want you to tell 3-5 people this week, who aren’t your family, significant other, or really close friend that you think they’re beautiful, or sexy, or something to effect that you see the goodness that they radiate. It could be a coworker, the cashier at CVS Drugstore, your mailman, I don’t care. That’s it, don’t try to pick them up. And then come back here and let me know what kind of reactions you got. Did you get a smile? Did they blush? And how did that make you feel?

A word of caution, doing this to the “hottie” chick while her no-neck, linebacker boyfriend is standing right there is probably unwise. I will not be held responsible if you get your ass kicked.