Pretty

Posted: 13 July, 2011 in Daily Droppings, Other
Tags: , , , , , ,

We left the windows open today.  Not that they do much good closed, but the air has chilled and we just lay on the living room floor enjoying the breeze running through the house.  Her hair tickles my neck and causes me to shift and stir.  The sun is low now.  It bounces through the glass and when I turn toward her she is trying to shade her eyes.

I want to tell her how pretty she is, but I don’t.  I stop because it always seems like such a generic and empty thing to say.  Telling someone they look particularly nice today or complimenting something they are wearing, sure.  That seems somewhat honest and you do have to be paying at least some attention to do so, but “You’re so beautiful” echhh. It’s always just sounded flat to me.  More importantly, I’ve always found that women tend to hate it. A few different results may occur and may be split up as such:

First, either she believes it is true or She does not (it does not matter if she actually is pretty or ugly. Only how she sees herself).  If she thinks she is beautiful She probably hears it all the time from every man she’s ever met, meaning the words are hollow, sleazy even, thinking you are just saying it in order to sleep with her. She could take the “I know, but I still need constant attention so keep saying it and I still wont sleep with you” route and in that case is someone too high maintenance and arrogant for me to deal with. She could simply be annoyed by it along the lines of “wow, I thought I liked you. Is that really all you got?”

On the other hand she may not believe you.  Again she may think you’re just trying to get in her pants.  Whether or not she thinks this she may then think you are lying to her, either talking down to her or directly insulting her intelligence.  And perhaps if she is intelligent and not very confident in her appearance there is the chance that she might actually think you are a moron for admiring her looks.

Nonetheless, I find myself on the floor here wanting to say just that, as simply as possibly.  I can’t.  Because of course as a writer and a college student, living in a house full of college students there is the added stigma of simplicity.  The thought being that anyone who uses such a simply structured three word sentence – “you are pretty” – when they could have used ten or at least something more complex, or, even better, something that someone else said (though I fail to see how this is a positive alternative to something original), – i.e. ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day blah blah blullshit – just isn’t trying hard enough and is therefore stupid.

This is not to say all women are like this.  It is also not to say that men aren’t like this either, if not more so. Which would make sense as, for some reason, our culture has decided it is not as normal for men to compliment each other on appearance as women, and men would therefore be less comfortable with taking said compliments. This just happens to be my unfortunate history with making such comments to the particular women I have known.

“Where are you?” She asks.

Such a common question, but she’s almost always asking that when  I’m right in front of her, never by phone. I realize now that I’ve been staring at her for some time without looking at her. I shake my head to loosen all those nuts and bolts up there.

“Not sure,” I murmur.

So I don’t tell her she’s pretty.  Instead I make some offhand pseudo poetic sounding line about the low angled rays of sunlight on her skin.

“Aw,” she responds, “my little poet.”

I scowl playfully. “Oh, that’s not diminutive at all. I feel right up there with My Little Pony, and My Little Princess.”

She laughs and pulls in close kissing and nibbling at my neck.  I growl at her.

“Aww, don’t be sad. Phbbt!” She blows a raspberry against my ear. “My little poet.”

I push back against her with my head like when a cat is trying to get your attention.

“Grrr…I’ll show you little.” I slide my hand up her leg, under her skirt.

I love when we play out these conversations; the ones we know in at least three moves in advance. Not that we are playing against each other or anything. Just playing it out with our heads butting like this.  The cuteness of in all should make me gag, but right now I’m past caring.  The day is too nice, too cool, too calm for caring about trifles. The only other people around are my housemate and his girlfriend who are in the kitchen.

I pull her tighter, squeeze her thigh and listen to the fall wind singing through the windows and the sound of frying sweet potatoes.

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