Abhorring Perfection

Have you ever met someone that you’ve tried to hate but just can’t bring yourself to? I have. There is this gorgeous woman who works in my office who I try to hate on a regular basis. She’s tall and thin with lustrous blonde hair that probably smells like coconut just waiting to be sniffed by creepy male passers-by. She has perfect dimples, straight white teeth and clear blue doe-eyes. She dresses better than I do, hell, she dresses like a Connecticut housewife crossed with a NYC fashionista, and her hair is ALWAYS done. Perfectly.

Aside from her looks, she is smart, witty, and above all, sweet. She is nice to everyone, even the idiot people in the office that everyone else ignores and makes fun of. Just this afternoon I saw her chit-chatting with one of the dafter idiots and she was LAUGHING AT HIS JOKES! I have tried repeatedly to hate her, until I have to call her about an issue and she responds promptly with the most helpful information before wishing me a lovely day.

What is my point, you ask? Well, aside from ranting about her annoying perfection, I have come to the conclusion that she’s hiding some deep, dark secret. Maybe she has a third nipple, or her perfect hair is really a wig (that WOULD explain why it is always done to perfection… Although you can even see Tyra’s weave line and she’s got personal hairdressers on staff…) I thought briefly that maybe she has webbed feet, but I definitely remember staring at her perfectly painted piggies in the most amazing houndstooth peep-toes (for which I aimlessly scoured the internet even weeks after she wore them to absolutely no avail because I was too embarrassed to ask her where she got them.)

So no, I don’t hate her. I can’t bring myself to say even one mean word about her. I will smile and wave each and every time I see her, and wish her a lovely day in return. So what if I secretly imagine she’s a closet cokehead buried in debt from her nose-candy habit? It could be true. Maybe…