When Perfection and Imperfection Collide
Standing in front of my full-length mirror, glaring at the south end of my 51 year old body going north, I make a startling observation. Objects in the rearview mirror really do appear larger than they actually are (or at least I hope they do)! With a faint smirk on my face, I walk away feeling a tinge of sarcastic gratitude. The joy in this moment is that I can actually laugh at my new “reality”! Mid-life has knocked on my door, and as hard as I leaned against that door with my full body weight, it has flung open… smashing me against the wall.
I recall the days long ago when my slightly taut 20-year old body would be critiqued by my highly developed, extremely mature 20 year-old brain. With images of Barbie floating in the recesses of my mind, I determined something went a-rye when God created me. Either Barbie’s plastic body was malformed, or my Creator put a few extra inches on the bottom half, which were supposed to be on the top half. Hmmm…. Mattel or God… who made the design mistake?
And what about “dishwater blonde hair?” “Drab”, I would exclaim! Deep blue eyes would really look great with naturally dark eyelashes and a thick head of brunette hair, gently curling around my shoulders. Come on! Family legend has it that my grandmother had gorgeous brunette hair, deep blue eyes, and a “peaches and cream” complexion. So how was it that I, being her direct descendent, was graced with an abundance of freckles, which quite frankly I considered a huge design flaw? (And just for the record, contrary to my older and wiser sister’s advice, the firm application of #2 sand paper does not remove those pesky freckles!)
And furthermore, how in the world did I get this figure? Sure, as a teenager I was skinny at 105 pounds, but I wanted to be “straight” and skinny, not have all of these curves. I recall my mom telling me that somehow I went from a stick figure overnight to a curvaceous but skinny eight year old. But by the time I was a teenager in the 70’s, the hour-glass figure of Marilyn Monroe was no longer in vogue, and the lean, sleek (emaciated) bodies of runway models graced the teeny-bopper magazines. Surely David Cassidy and Bobby Sherman only liked the paper-thin models, not girls like me who were shaped like the figure 8 Hotwheels racetrack!
You get the picture. We females are never satisfied! We say to ourselves, “If only I had this body,” or “If only I had that personality, then life would be perfect!” But what happens when “perceived perfection” collides with our “perceived imperfection”? It’s a disharmonic convergence of catastrophic proportions, and it sends even grown women running in every direction begging for help. (I know this because I just watched an infomercial on cable and saw it with my own eyes!!)
For instance, as I sit reading the morning paper with my turbo-charged 1.75 powered reading glasses, I discover that Botox is the new drug of the 21st century. I’ve also determined that as a woman in this century, it apparently is no longer proper nor safe for us to leave our homes without Botox. Heaven forbid that the eyelids of a 51 year old actually look their age! And what if that bagginess interferes with my driving? And that soft crinkly skin underneath my eyes can be firm and paralyzed, too, with just one shot of Botulism! Yes, we can look like Barbie!
There’s also this new craze among women. Botox parties! What happened to Tupperware? I mean, do I really want to take my wrinkled, puffy eyes, drooping chin, graying hair and show them off to 20 peers? I would rather sit and burp Tupperware; it’s far less painful and only slightly hazardous to the pocket-book.
Speaking of puffy eyes, I recall visiting a department store’s cosmetic counter when the young 19 year-old girl behind the counter offered her expert opinion. “You know, you can get rid of that puffiness under your eyes with this eye-firming cream,” she sympathetically informed me. I’m not certain whether my mouth dropped open or not, but at 30 years of age, I was a bit offended. I wanted to shout… “That puffiness is from working 18 hour days!” However, restraint prevailed. Being a very mature Christian, albeit with slightly puffy eyes, I don’t believe I flew over the counter in a rage, as I relied upon the restraint of the Holy Spirit. But I do remember walking out of that store having purchased that miracle anti-puffy, anti-aging, anti-Christ eye cream!
The latest craze are designer jean parties! I’ve been invited to many of these, and while I’m thankful that I’m included on the invitation list, I don’t think they would like a crying, screaming 51 year old woman shamelessly trying to fit into their tiny jeans. I can’t wear designer jeans anymore! When I go into a dressing room and try on clothes, it is an extremely personal experience. The weeping and gnashing of teeth is best done in the privacy of my own bedroom, thank you very much!
And so goes the timeless struggle of the women. Our perception of “perfection” has been written by magazine editors who employ the miracles of PhotoShop to create their perfect world. Let’s start a revolution and insist to our world that we were created in God’s image. And He, my friend, is perfect!
