She sat on the train, eyes wandering casually. As the train doors opened, a woman, about the same age as she, stepped into the car. She immediately hated the other woman.
Dressed in slim boot cut jeans over “f* me” heels (4 inch stiletto sandals that perfectly displayed her French pedicured toes) paired with an incredible silk tank top that draped nicely over her perky b cup breasts; the cut was low enough to give a hint of cleavage but not low enough to give a feeling of “sl*t.”
She sat still, watching the other woman sway with the motion of the train. Studying her brought her no pleasure; rather, feelings of inadequacy and insecurity. She was by no means beautiful; she could be seen as cute, but only on good days; she rarely paid much attention to her own appearance as she couldn’t be bothered most days. Her own fashion sense left much to be desired, and her body, skinny and chubby in all the wrong places, was nothing to drool over.
The curious thing on this cool morning was that generally, the girl did not care. She made no effort to improve her appearance, her wardrobe, and felt no remorse over such. She was content throwing on baggy jeans with a clean, random t shirt every morning. She felt comfortable, happy in her sneakers that allowed her blood to circulate freely and did not cause her to limp.
But… something about the other woman. Maybe the way she carried herself. Maybe… her air of happiness, of self content.
Or maybe it was the adoring stares of the male passengers.
No, she shook herself out of her thoughts. The males did nothing for her. Absolutely not.
She continued to steal glances at the woman, noting her long dark and gloriously shiny hair. With each jolt of the train, her hair would swing gently from side to side, creating a hypnotizing illusion of black silk falling across her shoulders.
She stood up. Her stop was next.
As she slipped past the woman, their eyes caught for a brief moment. The woman smiled at her, a genuine heartfelt smile that warmed the girl down to her toes.
She blushed, ashamed of her previous thoughts. She hated the woman more than before- for making her feel ashamed. She cast her eyes downward and glimpsed the woman’s belt.
A beautiful leather strap that looked as though it would melt softly to the touch completed her flawless ensemble.
Except while threading her belt through that morning, she had missed a belt loop. The belt lay on top of the loop, swiftly destroying the look of perfection.
The girl’s emotions did a flip flop. No longer did hate pour from her towards the woman. Instead, she felt sorry for the woman; this woman who felt the need to put herself through all the hassle just to look good in the morning for other people. To feel accepted by them.
The girl stepped off the train and felt pity for the woman.
Perfection spoiled by a belt loop.
originally written & posted August 19, 2003