Walking From Penn Station

"Beautiful." "You look beautiful today." "You're really beautiful, you know." "Please stay on the sidewalk, beautiful."

Thus starts my morning. Young girl in a thigh length white dress, knee-high riding boots, and sunglasses. At first, this may seem like a ego-centric validation of "I get hit on, yes I'm attractive." But that is not at all what I mean by this. Rather, it seems a study of the seen and the unseen. I have listed what they see directly, the dress, the boots, the glasses. Potential unseen visions they have may include imaginations of a naked body, a void between two legs to fill, at best an interesting individual to get to know better, a confident being to submit to, a woman to overpower. I can only imagine. To them, the man in Starbucks, the construction workers, the homeless men, the blue-collar worker leaning out of his van, this body presents a plethora of untapped possibilities (no pun intended), this person holds an enigmatic personality they can only assume.

The things they don't see: the sweat seeming into the underarms and back of my dress as I carry my burden of a backpack, the wedgie that creeps ever further up my ass, the limp I'm trying to hide from boots just a smidge too narrow. Even further, they don't see the boyfriend who's working a job he hates to help ensure we get the apartment we've put a deposit on, the mother who warns me against predatory men ("don't engage," "avoid eye contact."), the small child I was who cringed away from physical contact.

Their words, a compliment, an invasion, a form of contact, an assault. I respond. "Thank you." "Oh, thanks, haha." What exactly does it mean to be complimented, to be desired on first sight? The eye presents an image that one finds appealing to one's own tastes. One then reaches outside of themselves, makes known their approval (did I ask for someone else's approval?), and makes verbal contact with the desired object, the object desired for nothing other than sight. Maybe you can judge a book by it's cover, as a person's appearance does in truth reveal a lot about their personality, their tastes, their interests. Maybe it's not just these thighs, these breasts, this ass that attracts their eyes, but what the objects that cover them suggest about the person who owns them. But then again, maybe it is just this body, this face, this shell that I bare to carry all that's within, that piques their interest. Hoping for the former, more often than not, is just idealism.    

A Thought: Savor the little moments, the intricacies that make everyday unique. For example, this morning as my boyfriend and I walked down the street, an energetic, bright eyed, middle-aged african american man stops in front of us, joyously saying "God bless America. And food stamps!" before continuing on his way. Welcome to Thursday.

A Find: An old but nonetheless wonderful find, Moroccan Oil's hair oil. I'm completely in love with this product, an oil you rub on your hands and then feed through your hair that leaves it feeling silky, not overly oily, and smelling wonderful. Excess oil on your hands can then be rubbed on your skin to give it a smoother feel, as well.

http://moroccanoil.com/en_US/products/Moroccanoil®-Treatment