Eye of the Beholder

Today as we were sitting in traffic, I looked over at the car next to us and gasped, "Wow," and then another when I saw its occupant.

I live in a wealthy city and seeing Maseratis isn't usually notable but this was the most beautiful car with the most beautiful woman in it that I had ever seen -- the kind of polished and perfect beauty that only comes with great riches.

"What?" My 10-year-old asked.

"That car is beautiful -- like unusually and expensively so. And so is the lady inside."

"And?"

"Oh. Nothing. I was just noticing. And impressed. And maybe a little envious?"

"Why? You are beautiful. And you drive a black car just like her."

Guys, I drive a used VW Jetta with a broken side mirror. I was wearing the same cut-offs I've worn the last 2 days. My hair was in a messy ponytail -- like, totally unbrushed, and I had no make-up on.

She was in a high end Maserati (I know nothing about cars, but I know it wasn't one of the "cheap" ones). She had glossy, long, curled dark hair blowing behind her, perfectly pouty glossed lips, not a line on her face, and her rings were blinding me as she held up her phone.

"Haha. Thank you, honey. It's a little different but I appreciate it."

"Well...maybe just because your hair is in a ponytail."

And I laughed, because that was hilarious...but he meant it. This was not your typical kiss-assery. He was both sincere and confused at my admiration of her.

"I'm never going to grow out of telling you you're beautiful, it's not just because I'm little that I think that," he said when I laughed.

And, man, I hope he doesn't.

Because I'll never have a Maserati.