I'm not the prettiest girl at work anymore

So maybe it’s conceit; maybe it’s realizing my youthful beauty has finally reached the top of the hill and it truly is “all downhill from here.” I’ll admit to some vanity over the past couple of decades. Vicki and I used to try to find girls in church who were cuter than us. I know, crazy. It was when we were in college. We would look around and try to find girls we thought were prettier. There wasn’t always a lot. If we thought someone was prettier, the other would argue that they weren’t . I’m not saying we were right, or that it was true; we were just really good for each other’s egos.

I came to this realization that I didn’t want to ask the magic mirror who was the fairest of them all sometime last week. I’ve been working at Paul Mitchell the School for two weeks now. It was a sad death of sorts. I totally understand Snow White’s wicked stepmother. But at work, I’m way out numbered by cute girls. I mean, there are lots of reasons that are out of my control. For one, the girls are half my age. When did I get old enough to work with people half my age? I AM going to be 39 this month. I have been out of circulation and admittedly grew quite frumpy while being a stay-at-home Mom for the past three years. The added weight gain, naturally takes off points. But, even if I were skinny, it’s still a tough competition.

Last night, while trying to go to sleep, my husband, Brant randomly said, “You know I still think you’re beautiful, don’t you?” I didn’t realize I didn’t think that anymore until he asked me that question. I haven’t felt beautiful for a long time. Not that my well-fed ego was lamenting over it. My ego always makes excuses for any deficiencies. You know, for example my ego will say, “You might not be the prettiest, but you’re the best looking 38 year old there. You look good for your age.” I like my ego.

I replied to Brant, “You do?” I wondered if he had been having secret talks with my ego. Or, maybe he was becoming my ego.

He said, “Oh, course. Why do you think I call you ‘Sexy’ all of the time.”

Begging for more, I said, “Really? You mean that?”

“You’ll always be the most beautiful woman in my eyes,” he continued. He leaned over and kissed me and then said what he says every night, “Good night, Sexy.”

He made me smile, and tear up a little. Maybe I’m not the prettiest at work anymore, but I’ll always be the most beautiful to him. I guess you can’t ask for more than that. Even if--as Ron always says, “The old gray mare ain’t what she used to be.”