There was a song that played often when I was a kid about, "The most beautiful girl in the world". I think at that time I believed there was quite possibly one woman who was considered MOST beautiful in all the universe and I admit that I longed to be her. I have come to learn that there are many most beautiful women and it seems that the majority of them currently live in the same darn county as me, making my daily life a bit hellish, if I do say so myself. I can also inform you that many of them are my long time friends, my sisters, nieces, cousins, aunts and yup even my own mom is one. These days I look at my daughter and nearly faint from her beauty. I tell her all the time that she is the most beautiful girl in the world and she remains unfazed and I can only hope that I appease or satiate some part of her so that she never actually requires compliments about her appearance when she's all grown up, because it's a bitch wanting, needing to hear "how gorgeous you look today".
I have had moments where I've felt like the prettiest person in the room, then I open my eyes and the feeling fades instantaneously. But I've had the feeling and it's as wonderful as it is miserable. I had it last night, though I was in the company of a few of those most beautiful girls in the world. I still had it even with them next to me. It sprang from inside me I realize, but it was affirmed on the outside by none other then outsiders of course. What is it about some days or some attitudes or maybe some outfits that bump us into the stratosphere of attractiveness or do just the opposite and plant us firmly in the dredges of un-cute-ness at times? I sure hate those days, but I'm wondering if those moments aren't an essential part of their polar opposition? If you never felt like the loveliest creature in the joint then you may never feel like the f-ugliest of all at times. And I can't decide which is worse? Which is the curse?
I had that fairest of all feeling last night, with all it's magnetic glory, it's light and attraction and it wouldn't quit, until of course it quit when I'd just gotten used to it. If I could figure out the DNA code to that fleeting feeling I would and I'd bottle it and then I'd explode it, decimate it and let us all live in peaceful obliviousness.
Hey? Did you happen to see the most beautiful girl in the world? And if you did, was she crying?
