I made the mistake of asking my husband who he thought the hottest ladies in Hollywood were.
"Hmm...." he mused. We were sitting in a coffee shop downtown, he was reading Keith Richards' Life, and I was perusing US Weekly, my favorite gossip magazine. I eagerly leaned forward, excited for his answer.
He sipped his organic coffee delicately, like the effeminate yuppie he was. "I really like Kim Kardashian- she's really stunning- great curves. And Salma Hayek- she is gorgeous, as is Penelope Cruz. And Eva Mendes- I LOVE her. Wow....she is also so hot...." he trailed off and stared out the window, his eyes glazed over with lust.
"What?!?" I choked, in horror.
On a good day, I look like Macaulay Culkin. On a bad one, I resemble Gollum from Lord Of The Rings. My skin is so pale I could be the daughter of two pieces of chalk. My eyes are a colorless gray, my body, a stick- a curve-less, unisex, stick.
"You like dark-haired, curvy chicks with tans?!" I sputtered. "Latinas....and- and Kim Kardashian is Armenian! Jesus, honey-" my voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "I look like a fucking ten-year-old boy and you want JLO?!?!"
"You're cute, honey," he assured me, patting me on the hand. Then he frowned. "Are you getting sick?"
"I'm not sick," I snapped. "I'm pale. We've been over this before. I can't believe you are attracted to people who look exactly opposite of me."
"Well..." he looked for words. "Don't you think those girls are really hot?"
"Of course I do," I replied exasperated. "I'm jealous of their dark glossy hair, big brown eyes, golden skin, and big tits- you think I LIKE dumping half a bottle of sunscreen on my clear-ass skin everyday?!? Under florescent lights I look blue- I'm Smurfette, for crying out loud."
"Now honey, there's no need to get upset- what did you expect me to say?" my husband asked, gently, like I had a mental disability.
"I don't know, Dakota Fanning?" I asked, hopefully.
My husband cringed. "She's- creepy looking. Like an alien."
"She could be my fucking twin." I stated, pouting.
"Maybe you just need to get a little more sun," my husband suggested helpfully.
"Vampires get more sun than I do," I answered, irritated.
That evening, I decided to become a dark-haired siren. I was going to do a full-blown makeover- genetics be damned!
I started with my hair. I marched into my favorite salon and had them dump inky-black dye into it.
"So a lot of this dye is going to fade over time," my colorist stated, snapping her gum. "'Cause you have really pale, thin hair- and I just don't know if this color is going to hold."
"Gee, thanks," I said, sarcastically.
An hour later I came out of the salon looking like a Russian bride- a dead Russian bride. The dark color magnified my pale skin and, if I'm honest- I looked like I was wearing a wig.
"You look weird," my husband stated, confused. "Are you trying to look like Suri Cruise?"
The next day I decided to tackle my second goal- dark skin. I decided to avoid the tanning bed, as my fear of looking like a leather-skinned Florida retiree won out against my desire to look like a Latina- and went for the fake bronzer instead.
"What in the hell is all over the sheets?" My husband asked, horrified.
"Um...." I was orange and smelled like a chemical factory, but at least I wasn't pale. And while I could have passed for Snookie from MTV's Jersey Shore, I couldn't help but feel a little more like JLo.
My final step involved brown contacts, but then my boss thought I was high because my pupils 'looked dilated', and I had to take them out. My attempt at curves involved two falsies that looked like chicken cutlets- I tucked them into my bra and went out with my friends.
"Have you put on weight?" Bree asked me, confused.
I stuck out my chest, showing off. "I've put on weight here."
"Oh my god, honey- those look SO fake." Bree rolled her eyes. "Like, really? Did you shove rolled socks in your training bra?"
"You're just jealous," I sniffed.
"You're right, I am," she said, sarcastically. "I just had to get it off my chest."
"We need to talk," my husband said, that evening. I was sitting next to him on the couch, my hair dark, my skin tan, my eyes brown, my breasts large.
"I'm really entertained by your makeover, honey- I really am." He paused. "But honestly?" He held my hands. "Really, honey, it's YOU I love. Not the totally hot Latina women. Just YOU."
As I looked into his eyes, I wasn't buying his bullshit for a second, but I went with it, mostly because keeping my roots dark was both expensive and exhausting, and my bronzer was ruining the sheets. "So you DO think that Macaulay Culkin is attractive?" I asked, sweetly.
"YES," he replied, nodding furiously. He would have agreed to anything to get me out of the Suri Cruise hair. "He is unbelievably hot. And so is Dakota Fanning, and Gollum," he finished.
"Good," I said, satisfied.
Time to stock up on some more sunscreen.
Quarter Life Whatever
3 years ago