In the presence of beauty

So there we were, the girls and I, waiting for our lunch to be served when who should strut in with a wisp of a 10-year-old girl but the beauty queen herself? I say strut, not walk because that’s simply the grace with which beauty queens stride. They don’t walk, like us minions. They strut. Head held high, shoulders back, tummy in and they make sure everyone in the room is watching them.

She was my classmate from the day we first tripped into school, bags heavier than us. Unlike me, she’s come a lo-oong way from tripping. Apparently descended from a line of beauty queens, she has, since those early school days, been groomed to become one herself! I completely understand, of course. Beautiful genes are passed on like heirlooms. Some have ’em, others don’t and there’s no use crying over it. We can’t all claim to be Samantha Bricks now, can we?

Yes, my old school friend became a beauty queen. I can’t really call her a friend though because I was far from being in her league and she never saw the need to befriend someone like me. So our paths never hardly ever crossed. All I know is that she is tall and lithe with long hair and a brain the size of a pea. But so what, when you have genes like hers!

Fast forward to the present and there she was, ordering sushi for herself and her almost anorexic daughter whom she’s grooming to be the next supermodel or beauty queen, no doubt. If you ask me, her daughter’s a tad too skinny for a growing child. But maybe there are sacrifices to be made if you want to make it in the world of beauty, I don’t know.

Sitting in the same room as Beauty herself, it struck me that true beauties are often oblivious to their own good looks and seldom see the need to be validated by the world at large. That’s my theory anyhow. I’m not in awe of beauty, are you? We shouldn’t be, simply because beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. And to put it (loosely) in the words of our guy Shakespeare, some were born beautiful, some had a little help, and if all else fails, there’s always Botox, Spanx and Photoshop. Just sayin’.

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