Blinded by Beauty

When they walked through the door, every pair of eyes drifted towards them.  I was at the same restaurant these 8 or 9 women just entered and my eyes fell on them as well.  

Their ages ranged from late twenties to mid thirties, their dresses hit anywhere from thigh to floor length and their hairstyles as diverse as Miley to Rapunzel. They were strikingly beautiful, every last one of them.  And they knew it.

After embracing each other and bringing up the octave of the room a notch or two through squeals of excitement, they finally settled into their seats.  This allowed the women in the room to refocus their conversations to the plates in front of them and the men to adjust their line of vision to occasionally glance their way without total guilt.  We were all in for a show, whether we wanted the ticket or not.

I knew their server and nudged him on his way to the table.  Hey, hey, hey!  Lucky you... Tell them you accept phone numbers as a form of tip!  I teased him a little longer, he rolled his eyes and laughed knowing that he would not only accept that tip but prefer it by the looks of these ladies.  

I turned to my friend and commented on how stunning the bunch of them were, even the two toddlers that the moms of the group had tagged along looked like child models.  My friend brushed off my comment and expressed her complete disinterest in discussing them.  Her words wreaked of envy.  "Though, it would not surprise me if you decided to pull up a chair to chat and dine with them.."  She teased these words my way with a fabricated fancy twirl of her hand.

But she was right.  I would have.  People in general fascinate me.  And I am no sooner to discriminate my passion for what makes an individual's mind tick based on their physical beauty nor their lack of it.  I like to sort through the wreckage on the inside, and that debris almost always comes up looking the same.

I unabashedly turned my attention back to their table and looked for reasons to prove my friend wrong.  It was completely possible for these women to be as beautiful on the inside as they displayed on the out.  And finding these gems happened to be one of my favorite treasures in life's unending hunt.  

So I dipped my cerebral pan into their river of conversation and patiently sifted for the gold I hoped would be there.  

I'm sad to say, no gold was found. 

In fact, silver was nowhere to be seen.  Not even a penny's worth of copper lined the character of these women.

I watched as my friend serving them tried tirelessly to get their attention to which they blatantly ignored.  He was no longer trying to impress or entertain but simply do his job and they would not even afford him that opportunity.  

None of them knew what they wanted.  They even seemed annoyed at the fact that he was unable to read their minds or make their decisions for them.  

They spoke over one another so loudly that every table around them was now disturbed and the two children treated this four star restaurant as if it was the latest McDonald's Play Place.  At one point a server almost tripped over the children with hot plates in hand and still their focus went undisturbed from each other.  

There was not one 'please' when an order was given nor a 'thank you' when it was delivered.  They moved their chairs wherever they pleased which blocked the course for work to all employees around and emphatically waved their arms to deliver their tedious points.  They had absolutely no concern for the comfort or discomfort of a single person around them.  Aside from themselves, of course.

I sat back, disheartened from the shit show I had just witnessed.  I was really rooting for them, too!  It took everything in me not to go over there, stand in the center of their table (cause that's the only way I was going to get their attention) and scold them for being such false and deceiving examples of beauty.  

But the urge to do so left just as quickly as it had come. It vanished because I realized that the only thing that they would have taken from my disappointed rant, would be the fact that I had categorized them as beautiful.  And in that lies their validation.  Being considered physically attractive was obviously what they were striving for and my disdain for their vapid desires would be just be the trophy they all craved.

As I stood to leave, I let my gaze fall on them for a final time.  I noticed how their once glowing complexions dulled and grayed before my eyes.  Their once delicate hands, now curled and disfigured, disgraced the crystal wine glasses between them.  Their eyes hallowed at one another and, if you listened closely, you could almost hear the dwindling wheeze and shallow heartbeats in their sunken chests.  

These were no beauties at all.  Just wolves in sheep's clothing.  No matter how much they spent on what draped their frame they were to be sold for a dime a dozen.

I left with pity in my heart for them.  Even if they were to live their lives contently with the way they were, it still saddened me.  They would never know just how "beautiful" life really is.  They will never be surrounded by a love that is capable of filling any canyon left from heartbreak.  They will never get lost in the satisfaction that can only be delivered by aiding the joy of another.  They won't be given the pleasure of letting go of the chains of society's expectations, to truly live out a life of higher purpose.  

No, these girls won't know any of these gifts life offers us all.  Not because they aren't offered, but because they will choose no to take them.

But they will turn heads. They will receive whistles and howls from strangers.  Their entrance will continue to stop rooms.  The validation they seek unfortunately overflows in the streets of our cities.

All we can do is seek out the door that is sure to be in the corner of that room they've stopped.  We must walk swiftly past the heads they have turned and follow the path that can only be illuminated by the radiant glow of a golden heart.  Turning this handle leads to a purpose-filled life that none of them have the ability to behold.  They will continue to stand neck-deep in their self-delight, mistake it for love and be just fine with it.  

There are rules to this door we should all hope to open: Those who choose to love from the outside in will be left out.  And only those who refuse to only love the outside will be let in.

Those women that night may have been beautiful to most but, honestly, what good is that kind of beauty when the rest of us can all so clearly see that they are blind?  

Charlotte Crow

I'm a modern day farmer's daughter who shares and seeks inspiration from the comical & beautiful things that get caught in life's curious little web.