VERY NOT Nice

 

   I am no supermodel, but I play one in real life.  With a medicine cabinet lined with lotions and potions, and a cosmetics bag that should be kept safe in a vault, not on the counter of my bathroom sink, I put myself together as though Vogue has asked to have me to be on their magazine cover this month.

  

My lipstick-Fig, by Smashbox.  

My cheeks-Margin, by MAC.

My mascara-Maybelline Mousse extended length. 

My nails- Italian Love Affair by OPI.  

   I won’t dare attempt a Keratin treatment because I don’t actually think my hair warrants it, but I do invest in a good smoothing leave in conditioner that’s a great foundation for any blow out.

   I slip into a fuchsia strapless dress, and make sure to walk through a spraying of ‘Sugar’ my go to cologne.  Looking in the mirror for a last grade, I give myself a 10. I walk into the den where Joe is waiting for me.  He is watching a repeat of CSI for the third, or re-repeated time.  I stand at the bottom of the stairs awaiting a comment.  He looks up once the commercial has started.

My body language is saying, “Well??!”  Waiting for a ‘your beauty takes my breathe away’ response, only to be met by a flat tone of "very nice."

If this is what he sees then why bother?!

       Joe claims that words like beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, magnificent, or pretty are not in his vocabulary.   Had I known this when we started seeing each other, I may not have opted for that third date.  Joe doesn’t realize it, but he’s lucky I’m not a high maintenance girl.  

     A woman deserves to hear a little flattery from time to time. It would be nice to hear those words, ‘hey beautiful’ by someone who isn’t wearing a hardhat at a construction site.  There’s a difference between NEEDING the reassurance from others as opposed to WANTING the acknowledgement of a job well done.  

   There have been one or two incidents where he asked me to change what I was wearing, but that’s as much of an opinion as I’ve received from him. 

   It was Tuesday night, we were watching the news and an E.M.T. spokesperson was being interviewed. 

“That E.M.T. worker is very pretty.”  Joe says.

I raise my dark, well-groomed brow.  VERY INTERESTING. 

   A day later, we attended an engagement party overlooking the beach.  It was the perfect evening.  A clear night sky, mid 70’s, soft lighting, waves crashing against the surf.  Movie magnitude. 

   “Nice party.”  I said.

   “NICE??  It’s magnificent!  Look at it back here….it’s beautiful!!!”  Joe says.

   The kick in the ass came when we were waiting for the valet to bring us the car.  A Sepang Brown, AMG-SLS Mercedes Roadster pulls up.  Joey is under its spell.  The hum of the 12 cylinder engine, the smell of the Sand design leather interior-Joe was high.  The driver thanked the valet, and whisked away leaving us behind in a tsunami of gravel.

   "0-60 in 3.8 seconds, what a HOT car!!”  Joey sighs.

   Joe went on and on about the car, the custom ten spoke wheels.  Any detail that he could have picked up on was branded into his cranium.  The steel she-devil had stolen his heart.   I was amazed at his eye for detail yet disgusted that it was a car that he found sexy-and not the woman who bore him two children.   

   Married now for 13 years and all it took was a random E.M.T., an engagement party, and a car to say the words I longed to hear from him.  They weren’t directed at me, but for vocabulary’s sake I’m not going to pick and choose. 

   I could attempt cosmetic surgery (by an auto-mechanic), ask the doctor to give me the perfect Aluminum space-frame body, double wishbone sports suspension, and to top it all off a pair of AMG chromed exhaust tips.  Maybe then Joe would find me irresistible.  

    Until NASA develops the ability to turn humans into Auto-Bionic dream machines, I guess I'll just have to accept being loved by a man who's verbally challenged.