By: Dolores O’Neill
The perfect woman, she is everywhere. Every time I turn around, I see her there. You can find her on the cover of magazines, the coveted centerfold or on TV. She stars in the movies. She is everywhere except in your own mirror. You never see her there.
You can find her on the tongues of men who talk about her fairly. She is a mythical creature that you have yet to meet but there she is goading you daily. The one you wish to be. This vision of perfection that is always well coifed, high heeled, manicured and ready. She stays calm and cool. Her nerves are always steady.
We know her well, this mythical one. As if we have spent time in her presence since life begun. Her cooking is impeccable along with her manners. She doesn’t complain. She complies. Oh yes, we know her well, this beauty of men’s dreams. She surely is swell.
The thing that puzzles me most is that from year to year she changes. How can that be? It’s hard to keep up. The world’s most beautiful woman, an annual, and un-asked for competition. This elusive woman with whom all fall in love keeps the rest of us spending our money and wasting our time worrying over something we have no control of. Why, I wonder, does this vision of perfection change from year to year? It is interesting the way that works. The momentary Queendom seems like a quirk. Even Eve fell off her thrown before a second woman was made. Surely if you are the only woman, you must be the perfect woman, no? With no other to compare why take away her crown? How in the world can the only woman fall down?
The decision was made to find her. I was determined to see. With this in mind I set out early. Steadfast and determined, I went about my quest to see this creature that I’ve heard so much about and to find what this woman has that I’ve been left without.
I went to the salon and looked for her there. How silly, I thought, “She needn’t be there.” Her hair is perfect all hours of the day. She doesn’t need primping or priming. I went about my way. I stopped at the nail shop and took a look around. She wasn’t there of course. Where could she possibly be found? I went to the grocery and searched for her there. How ridiculous I was getting to imagine her there. She doesn’t eat as can clearly be seen. Her photos show us all just how to be lean. A fork in her mouth would be bad company. She’s not like any of us and certainly not like me.
I went back outside and looked for her there, but all I saw were women with heels and uncomfortable feet. That wouldn’t be her. She feels no pain. She vacuums and cleans in those shoes with the fancy name. Her clothes never wrinkle like the ones I see now, always perfectly ironed is she.
I searched in the park where I saw women with kids. She wasn’t there. She never is. A nanny takes care because her clothes can’t be stained, and heaven forbid she deal with such pain. I went to the school to see if she was there, and all I found were women with glasses to wear. Ms. Perfection would never do such a thing as make a man feel she knew anything.
I searched in the courts, the highest around, and saw some women there but perfection not found. Those up on the bench could certainly not be, perfection itself much smarter than thee. “No, no,” I thought, “she is not there. A true perfect woman wouldn’t dare. She knows her place in the home and in the bed, always caring for her man, no negative word said.”
I went to the hospital and looked for her there. I saw a surgeon with a bun in her hair. No, this is not her with the steady hands and a great brain, for Ms. Perfection knows better than that. She stays from where she came.
I couldn’t find her no matter where I looked, under the bed or out by the brook. She wasn’t in the hammock or the tanning bed. No improvement was needed, not another word said. She remained elusive no matter how hard I tried. I went home to my family with streaks of tears down my face. They asked why I had cried. I kept my feelings inside.
I went to bed angry because I knew I could never be. This wonderful perfect woman was just not me. Night after night I fought to understand, but no amount of thinking made sense to me until one night I had a dream, an epiphany. I dreamt I was lovely and caring and kind, the certain kind of woman a man would love to find. Small, big, fat or thin, flat or round behind, red, yellow, black or white, no matter what, she’s a lovely sight.
One morning, I awoke and ran to the mirror and what did I see? None other than a vision of perfection was in front of me. Her hair all matted from last night’s love. Her makeup smeared where the kisses were. Her nightshirt stained from puke and tears, memories of her children who called to her here. Her odor as such recalled from childhood you see. She was a sight, that’s for sure, a vision to be seen. A breaker of myths- that’s what she was to me.
Perhaps the true genius is not that she can’t be found, but that she is indeed everywhere I thought, all around. I thought as I peered at this beauty in front of me. She’s a vision of perfection. A perfectly imperfect me! And who am I you ask. I’ll answer you simply. I’m up to the task. I’m every woman you see. A breaker of myths too often bound. I’ll tear them apart and throw them down.
Go look in the mirror and see what I see. I see a pureness of form, lovely beyond words to be found. She’s made for glory and love, a vision of beauty from GOD above. If GOD made us, who is man to judge
Don’t doubt this revelation because it is so true. The way that you are is perfectly you. No one can aspire to become more than that cause you’re once in a lifetime. And that’s where it’s at.
Look in your mirror daily and love what you see because the person there is perfectly imperfect, yet she is the one you call “me.”
This article is dedicated to all the lovely women of the world.