>I have pretty much resigned myself to the fact that this is my role in life: to be the pretty girls’ friend. I was always the messenger in school, you know, the one that the boys would try to get information out of about all the popular girls, or the one that they would ask to put in a good word for them. Of course I helped them out because I’m nice like that, but also because I thought it would get them to like me.
I don’t know what it is about me, but I must put off some kind of vibe that makes me unapproachable. I mean, I know I have low self-esteem (practically non-existent), but logically I know I’m not horrible looking. Sure, I could lose a few pounds, but even when I was skinny I seemed to be invisible to men.
I shouldn’t complain because, hello? I’m MARRIED. I know that, and it is AWESOME and I love my husband more than life itself, but sometimes it really just sucks when I’m out with a girlfriend and they’re always the one getting hit on. I have never, ever been hit on. Ever. No, wait. I lied. I did get whistled at once by an honest-to-goodness crackhead in the city, and I was with the BFF who is disgustingly gorgeous. I bet she was jealous. But anyway, it’s not like I don’t appreciate the fact that Mr. H thinks I am the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, but sometimes it would be nice to get attention from other people just to prove to myself that I am not completely hideous.
I’m never the one that gets free dessert at restaurants or the one that gets drinks sent to her or even the one that gets approached by random men in stores or on the street or whatever. I hate when women complain about this kind of attention and make it seem like it’s sooo trashy and irritating. Hello?! People think you’re ATTRACTIVE! Take it as a compliment and move on.
When I was in Italy with Mary, we were sitting at the bar in our hotel in Rome and these two MARRIED British men came over to tell her how much she looked like Mariah Carey and how if they weren’t there with their WIVES they would come over and buy her some drinks. Cheesy and sleazy, yes. But still kind of flattering in a weird way. Then, when we were sitting at a little cafe in Florence, completely trashed and crying about who knows what, two Italian men and there English-speaking female friend come sit at the table next to us to tell her how beautiful she is. Now, Mary is pretty and she has ginormous boobs, but she’s also kind of a bitch. Is this what men look for? My goodness.