I’m so glad I wasn’t born beautiful. Even, as the old nursery rhyme goes, “Monday’s child is fair of face”. I was born on a Monday.
Already I hear the rush to disagreement from friends, acquaintances, even family [themselves no great shakes in the “looks” brigade – any of them – either!].
Thank you, thank you, thank you. [But how could anyone trust the opinions of people who, on seeing the Mona Lisa that first time in the Louvre, missed the beauty and commented “ ... she’s so small!”]?
‘Better the table d’hote menu, with its offering of steady if limited satisfaction. Cheaper too’
Being average in looks, height, and achievement, is clearly enough for most of us, including those – who shall not be named – whose sole remaining ambition is to also be “average” in weight.
RM Block
Standing out from the crowd as a beautiful man or woman has to be such a difficult experience and a recipe for deep personal unhappiness. So very tough. The entire menu is yours, yet you are expected to settle forevermore for that gorgeous, delicious chicken shashlik giving you the eye, even as the spicy aroma of the rogan josh promises hot excitement and adventure?
So many dishes, so little time. How could you ever settle down?
Better the table d’hote menu, with its offering of steady if limited satisfaction. Cheaper too. Yes, being average has many advantages over being very beautiful. No one is ever intimidated by your appearance and no one is ever jealous of you either. [The very idea is laughable.]
Being average also means you’re more likely to have “soul”, that which arises from suffering the slings and arrows. It’s a “gift” denied the beautiful, who never have to develop the depth and resilience that goes with those experiences of rejection that come the way of the rest of us.
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It’s why beautiful people tend to be shallow, in much the same way that big, strong men can turn out to be weak-willed pussycats – because no one has ever challenged them.
So, my fellow average persons, be grateful for what we are.
And, you may also congratulate me as we approach the end of this column without one reference to “Joyce”, “kidneys”, or “Useless” [as Brendan Behand retitled “Ulysses”] on this eve of Bloomsday. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Average, from French avarie, for “damage to ship”, related to equal sharing of loss.
