Years ago, I was in the lounge at Hofstra Law School between classes where a particularly glib and witty classmate was doing the NY Times crossword puzzle in ink. I thought he was brilliant, not only because he made Law Review – but because I never attempted any crossword puzzle in ink – was always insecure about what I wrote and needed to have an eraser handy just in case. So imagine my delight when he motioned for me to come to his table.
“Can you think of a 7-letter word for ‘Snow White’s Appraisers?” he asked.
“Mirrors,” I said immediately, with no hesitation whatsoever.
For ten seconds, I thought “Wow – maybe I’m as glib as he is and don’t realize it…” then immediately shifted into insecure mode – “Oh – it’s only because I’m so conscious of how I look all the time…”
I’d love to say that some 30 years later, things have changed and I walk out of the house confidently, not worrying about whether my lipstick is crooked or if something I’m wearing is unflattering or unstylish…and most days I don’t much worry; once one realizes that one will never be America’s Top Model, any day that you don’t look or feel hideous is somewhat of a bonus.
At any rate, vanity of course rears its ugly head regularly, particularly when it’s triggered by those who are so vain they will probably think this blog is about them.
Example: the other night at dinner, my son asked me how a family friend (whom I’ve know since the 70s and who I’ll affectionately call “Uncle Jerkov” since we’re on the outs at the moment) was doing and I said “He’s all a twitter because he met Kat Von D at a book signing and had a picture taken with her.”
“Wow,” Dylan replied, “She IS hot.” (For those of you who are not familiar with who Kat Von D is she is a tattoo artist and TV personality, best known for her work as a featured tattoo artist on Miami Ink).
“That’s what he said,” I told him, “he likes that look.”
“But she’s a young girl,” he said, “it’s a little weird that he’s saying it…he’s old.”
I started at him and tried not to laugh. Didn’t want to say “When you’re his age, you’ll likely be looking at girls her age.” Because maybe some of my values actually rubbed off on him. Or at least values I’d like to think I have – which I probably do – as to me a person’s wit and brain always matter more than their outside appearance. Not every woman, for example, had a crush on Maury Povich (ok – it was folly- but it was before the focus of his show was on paternity suits so cut me some slack). And while Cougars are apparently on the up rise – I for one don’t feel that I would have enough in common with the lawn boy to even enjoy…let’s say having him “trim the hedges” (let euphemism reign).
At any rate, when Dylan said that – I started thinking about things Uncle Jerkov had said to me – not always about me – but in general – and how mirrors seemed to be the enemy of almost every woman I knew – not to mention the men.
And as much as I don’t like to fall into the trap – I always do. Consider what happened to me the other day for example:
I went to the office of the realtor who is handling the sale of my home to drop an envelope off on her desk. She wasn’t in – but another broker came over to me and said “Hi, you’re from Coldwell Banker, right? I’m Joe Broker.”
“No,” I said, “I’m not a realtor – I’m dropping off something for Joon…”
“Oh wow,” he said, “you look exactly like a broker from Coldwell Banker…I can’t remember her name…but I thought you were her…”
“Well,” I said, “I’m not…but she better be a babe!”
He thought I was trying to be funny – which maybe I was – but whenever anyone says “you remind me so much of my cousin or friend or anyone – I immediately obsess over what that person might look like.
In some cases, I’m thrilled and in others – not so much.
And sometimes compliments come out of comments that people mean as insults.
Example: a business acquaintance with whom I had lunch asked me if I was “on the market” for a new boyfriend (yet) and before I could answer – she said “No obligation – but I know someone who is around your age who you might like…he’s divorced…”
I cut her off. Not because I’m not looking to meet men (which I’m not – but that’s not why I interrupted her) – but because I needed to know what she meant.
“Hold on,” I said, “how old do you think I am? What do you mean ‘around my age’?”
“Well – you’re in your 40s right? He’s about 45…”
At that point, I was ready to leap across the table and kiss her on the lips. (No – I’m not gay and I’ve never kissed a girl – but I was so happy that she thought I was in my 40s when I’m actually 54 – that I didn’t even wonder if she needed new contact lenses or was being polite).
At that moment, I realized just how vain I really was.
“Thanks,” I said, “but I’m in my 50s…and I’m not the cougar type.”
Of course, I picked up the tab for lunch that day.
But then of course I was dragged back into the reality of things when Uncle Jerkov gave me unsolicited advice on what I could use that’s “Better than Botox” (which is when I stopped speaking to him, the jerk).
However – he was likely speaking from his own insecurities and trying to pass on a helpful tip that he would appreciate having gotten himself…similar to when I told the High Tech Hottie that I was going to submit her name to “What Not to Wear” – my intention being that it would be great for her consultation business to be featured on a major television program – and she could get a new wardrobe in the process.
“You make me feel like I look like a slob all the time,” she said.
Of course that wasn’t my intention…but if they accept her for the show – do you think I’ll still be getting a holiday card from her?
As for Uncle Jerkov – he’s likely at the tanning salon now and not reading this blog, and will then go to the gym where he can glare at 20-somethings as he does his workout because, as he said, it “inspires him” apparently more than his 55-year-old wife or his frenemies from college…
Not me though…as soon as this blog is finished, I’m watching Maury...he's such a hottie...
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