By society’s standards, I am not a stunning, beautiful woman. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’m hideous. I can relate to this line from one of Gretchen Wilson’s honky-tonk tunes: “I may not be a ten, but the boys say I clean up good.” Give me a shower, some makeup and a flattering dress and I’m not too shabby.
No, I’m not fishing for compliments or affirmations of my appearance. Rather, this is a celebration of my imperfections. There are things on my body that are large when they’re supposed to be small (pores, nose, feet). And there are things on my body that are small when they’re supposed to be large (use your imagination).
But you know what? I’m glad. So glad that I don’t have a perfect complexion to maintain, rock-hard abs to keep sculpted and a long, glossy mane that requires gobs of potions and lotions. Some women are blessed with effortless beauty, and I’m happy for them. But also a little sad if that’s where they hold their self worth. Because external beauty is fleeting.
When I see my young daughter beginning to recognize that beauty is a common currency for women, I have to set a good example for her, as hard as it is to go against the grain. It’s important to take care of ourselves, but why chase something so unattainable? Why spend so much money on gizmos, gadgets and elixirs?
God gave me what I have and don’t have for a reason. And besides, I’m just a nerd at heart. That’s why, many moons ago when asked to “shake my moneymaker,” I shook my head. I’ll take brains over beauty any day.