My Mind's Ink

My wife and I are out with friends at a crowded pub. We share a large table with a group seated at the other end. Sitting across from me is a woman that reminds me of Penelope Cruz. She is petite with delicate Latin features and smooth skin. Her top plunges below a diminutive bust line to reveal the lace edges of her bra, which she manages to make look sexy and elegant. She is extravagantly beautiful.

We are seated by the stage and in the direct parade route to the bathroom, so we get a good sampling of the twenty somethings revving up for their Saturday night out. I begin to notice a general trend in the crowd highlighted by a group of girls standing close to us. Over produced hair, too much makeup, and outfits a size too small combine to shout, “Look at me.”

I lean over to my wife and say, “Look at these young things trying so hard. You’re the prettiest girl in here.” She smiles at me, kisses me on the cheek, “Thank you baby.” Then she flicks her head in the direction of Penelope and adds, “Well, if you ignore her.” “Yes,” I agree, “except for her.”

She is not trying to trick me into admitting I noticed a pretty girl to make a fuss. She made a joke and we have a good laugh about it. Self-assurance is sexy, and it is not an ingredient in hair spray. Someone should tell these other girls.

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