A Sad, Sad Commentary

Okay, you've seen my picture. How could you miss the enormous shot of my head right above this post? Recently, as I have embraced my inner-trophy-wifeness, I have come to realize that I am, indeed, a beautiful woman. Maybe not in the Scarlet Johansson big-pouty-lip and full-breast and youthful sort of way, but I'm pretty enough, funny, happy and full of love. Sounds beautiful to me.

So, which brings me to my sad commentary. I take a mid-morning pilates class at the rec center with about twenty other ladies, who are mostly, well, older than me. Watching my little 75 year-old pal Margaret workin' her abs gives me great joy. She's spry and kind and has this wacky little accent which I think is german, but it could be austrailian, for all I know. Accents are not my forte.

But I digress. The sad commentary. I had been talking about my handsome son's wedding to his gorgeous wife and at my pals' urging, I brought photos. (Admittedly, they did not have to urge too hard. When love is in the air, it's fun to share!) So, on cue, my little friends are "oohing" over the bride and "ahhing" that I had produced such a fine-looking groom. Then the sad commentary portion of my post: "Who is that lovely woman standing beside him in this photo?"

The gasp from my pilates pals was audible when I said it was me. They glanced back and forth from the picture to me, forgetting about sucking in their bellies and using their cores. The best response came from dear, dear Margaret. "That's YOU?"

Needless to say, I curled my hair and wore makeup to the next pilates class.