It’s time to laugh at myself again……
The title was my first thought when I overheard the comments of two teenage boys. They had taken it upon themselves to judge how close to perfection (limited to ten) passengers on the train were and yes this included me. In fact they started with me, which was hilarious because one I didn’t feel they should be able to comment on me and two I know what I saw and I didn’t think they were fit to comment. I quickly reminded myself that they were only brash, loud-talking children so I decided to zip it and let them amuse themselves.
Okay so from the top, the boy with an early Beiber-esque haircut motioned for his companion’s attention to be directed to me. I felt their stares before I saw them and after a few minutes I pulled my paper up towards my face to block them from looking. The thought of these teenage boys watching me slowly increased in creep factor as they were sat adjacent to me.
After another lapse in time and hoping they had received the message of my risen paper, the boy with 90’s band hair directed his companions attention to me and said ‘Four’.
I was nonchalant about it because they weren’t even in an age range that I could remotely entertain. I also figured that would be it and if I ignored them they’d move on but nope, no such luck.
The first boy’s companion queried his friend’s decision and the profounding calculations that brought him to ‘four’. Yes, I’m exaggerating but honestly I was quite intrigued to hear this reasoning too. I thought everyone knew that I was at least an eight *wink*.
‘Why four?’ Asked high top boy.
The band-haired boy explained that this was because I wore my reading glasses as I read the paper.
‘That’s harsh,’ said his friend as he continued to assess me. They then began to argue over my number…considering they were incredibly loud about it this is where I would interject a round of applause for my patience. I didn’t say anything to the boys because they were children and again I thought maybe this was where they would quieten down. Don’t feed the trolls as they say but I genuinely couldn’t believe they were that passionate about aesthetics. With so much happening in the world around them: the EU referendum, animals hunting for sport instead of a meal and engaging with children, homophobic, political and event shootings all in the last few weeks but they could only muster the topic of subjective measures of beauty.
‘I’ll show you a ten,’ I saw everything combed forward scroll through his phone with determination to find his idea of female perfection. By this time I had finished my paper removed my glasses and smiled at my fellow passengers who also knew the boys were talking about me. Some of these adults seemed to be rating me too. I presumed I was becoming self-conscious or paranoid, until one man looked from me then to the boys and back to me before frowning and shaking his head at me.
I offered the man a smile of gratitude for his quiet reassessment to prevent further awkwardness but I wondered why he also felt that he was in a position to rate me.
The combed forward teen, showed high top the lady that topped his scale and waited for his friend’s approval. Combed forward sighed when he didn’t receive any.
High top asserted that girls on Instagram didn’t always look like their pictures in real life. He also mentioned that he had seen her before and thought she was ‘seven at most’ because of the shape of her nose and her ‘fake tits’.
Combed foward, relented and agreed that maybe he had misjudged the Instagram model ‘but I would still bang her’.
High top brought their attention back to me and asked his friend to rate me again. Comb forward said ‘Nah she’s a four’. High top then asked comb forward to rate the women beside me and across from me and comb forward gave the woman across from me a ‘two’ and the woman beside me ‘ugly’.
In reflection it’s quite funny now that I didn’t care what they said about me but I found it highly offensive for comb forward to call the woman beside me ‘ugly’. Especially when I turned to her and saw that she was extremely embarrassed as she preened; running the fingers of her left hand quickly through her hair to fluff it out.
I turned to the boys and assessed them, in short I completely understood why they felt the need to rate others. They’re someone’s babies so I won’t go into detail but I knew the younger me when I was in school wouldn’t have noticed them.
Comb forward suggested that high top rate me and he concluded ‘I don’t know but more than a four…’.
I didn’t hear anything else after that it was my stop.
Copyright Teherah Wheeler (©) 2016
I also found it quite interesting that either this week or next week there will be a programme about people striving to become their idea of perfection through the use of invasive plastic surgery or minor cosmetic adjustments.
My interpretation of The Daily Post word prompt perfection