Photo by Drew Dizzy Graham on Unsplash
February 20, 2024
I’ve been thinking about getting another cat. A senior cat. Tabitha is 14, and I have room in my home and my heart for a senior cat.
I connected with a man who is rehoming his 11-year-old cat. His wife died a few months back, he wants to travel, the cat is extremely demanding of his attention. He was his wife’s caregiver for over a decade. It’s too much being on his own with the cat. He’s tired. I get that. He told me he’d found a home for his cat. Nonetheless, we proceeded to exchange way too many cat pictures and continued on texting for a bit.
He’s leaving for Hawaii soon, on a one-way ticket, he explained, because he’s not sure how long he’ll stay. He found a nice place for $175 a night, so maybe a month or two. Ching Ching. Yep, the guy has buck.
He told me about some of the women he’d connected with since his wife passed, including three FWB’s. There was one lady whom he liked just as a friend. She wasn’t very tall and she was overweight. Time had not been kind to her, he explained. He made the decision to friend zone the woman right up front.
“She was great, had the perfect personality, smart and funny, but I told her from the start we’d never be a couple.”
Shallow, I thought, judging him on the spot.
He went on a bit, going into detail about how he’d explained to her over and over he wasn’t interested in romance. He was quite exasperated by the whole scene and finally stopped talking to her. Why did he go on about it for so long? Did he want validation for his decision? Cuz he sure wasn’t going to get it from me.
Once he stopped to take a breath, I gave him my usual Embrace Your Single lecture, don’t make snap judgments, don’t rule anyone out for any reason at the start, least of all physical traits. Until you’ve gotten to know a woman, STAY OPEN.
He didn’t hear me on that. Clearly, he didn’t catch that whole message. Right over his head. Because then the conversation got a little sexual and I got a little uncomfortable. He was a tad creepy about it. I have experience with this. Too much experience, sadly. I steered the conversation back around. It was easy once I told him I weigh over 300 pounds. And that’s kind of sad. But really, it’s not sad at all. Not at all.
That was last week. This morning he sent me some pictures of him and his wife. He’s quite handsome. Like Movie Star Handsome. Like Scary Handsome.
So I’ve been thinking.
I’ve always believed people who are really good looking by society’s standards don’t have to work as hard; I’ve seen it and experienced it at work. They seem inordinately concerned with making sure they choose partners who are in the same “category” of attractiveness as they view themselves, give or take one standard deviation. Actually. Nope. No give or take on the physical requirements. They’re pretty rigid on that. Beauty Demands Beauty.
It’s kind of true for all of us that we tend to choose people that sort of match us. Not always. But when you look at couples, they often sort of match. They’re usually about the same age and the same size. They usually dress similarly. Maybe they buy their clothes at Ross. Or Walmart. Or if they’re upwardly mobile, some eco-friendly, locally owned boutique. There are tons of those in Portland. So that’s all well and good. Regular. Normal.
But when you’re really good looking, and you know it, you don’t choose partners based on the criteria most of us regular folks do. Criteria that really mean something, like the character traits of kindness, gentleness, graciousness, intelligence, sense of humor, the things they’re doing with their life that are interesting and meaningful.
Because of this phenomenon, I’ve always been glad I look ordinary and unremarkable. I’d rather have people be attracted to my extraordinary remarkable personality. And they are. That’s one of the joys of my life. The thing I value most. Truly. I bring quality people into my circle, I have the most incredible chosen family.
I really can’t think of a time I’ve felt better about myself and my circumstances. My weight is up. Good lord, it is up. I’ve gained it all back. I beat myself up about that some every day. Too much every day. And then I let it go. I’ve gained and lost hundreds of pounds in my life. I’m a professional dieter. I know exactly what I need to do.
So silly I’ve dedicated an entire paragraph to my fat ass. But man, this fat ass is in high demand! So fucking weird. Seriously. Weird. Thank God there are men who specifically seek out BBWs — Mature BBWs — or I’d never get laid. It’s nice to have options. It’s nice to say yes, sometimes. And it’s nice to say no, too.
I’ve known beautiful people, I really have, so this isn’t an across-the-board judgment. But the beautiful people I associate with are regular inside their heads. They act regular. They don’t take anything for granted. They do the work. Why? Because they know beauty fades. Time wanes beauty. Once it’s gone, because it will be gone, you better have a substantial fall back plan.
I really do think it’s easy for Super Good-Looking people to develop a sense of entitlement. I don’t think they have to work as hard for things as regular people do. There are some exceptions, like I said. But it’s easy to fall into a mindset of believing you deserve the extras when you’re especially attractive, and if you’re a man and you’re especially attractive and tall.
Society really has it all backwards. We should be celebrating regular ordinary unremarkable looking people doing extraordinary important things. There is some progress in that direction. There’s a body positivity movement gaining strength. There are activists in every field doing incredible work. It’s especially meaningful when someone is able to turn their fame into good. Thank You Taylor Swift. She’s only one many. Props to those for whom props are due.
And yet, the underlying standards of what society considers Really Beautiful remain static. I’m not sure that will ever change. Maybe what society views as Ultra-Beautiful will apply to fewer and fewer individuals. Maybe.
Those Most Beautiful People tend to make things harder for us regulars. They’re often thoughtless, entitled, assuming, vapid, sometimes quite dense, and they tend to be self-centered and just plain clueless. How’s that for stereotyping?
I don’t even think about this stuff until I have a conversation with a man like Mr. I Only Fuck Ultra Beautiful Ultra Hot Women. (He’s in his 70s, by the way, just so you can get the complete picture here.)
I used to fantasize about what it would be like, to be that beautiful, to have things come so easily for something I was just randomly born with. When I do that now, like I’m doing right now, only because of Mr. IOFUBUHW (see above), it makes me feel icky… Then sad. Just plain sad.
People that are as handsome as he is miss all the good things about regular women. I get sexual preferences, but I am telling you, I’ve met men I wasn’t attracted to at first meet, spent some time with them, and ended up wanting them so bad I couldn’t sit still. I only have those opportunities because I STAY OPEN.
Tell me I’m wrong about all this. But only if you’re one of The Beautiful People. Or else you haven’t much credibility. That’s another thing. Super Good-Looking People haven’t much credibility.
Oh, and I think the senior cat thing is going to happen. It’s in the works.