A Compliment Is All It Takes

We left Mexico to hop onto another adventure.

How incredibly cool my inner child couldn’t help but to think

What  a well traveled bitch my middle child confirmed

And I was

they all were 

until 

we were speeding through the Cancun airport,

I was confident wearing a very boho, flowy, off white shirt. My necklaces hung down my neck in a haphazard way that was very much more on the planned side.

”Girl, I love your style,” I suddenly heard.

I stopped my fast paced steps. Turned around.  My eyes flashed to the right and then to the left until they landed upon a blonde haired girl.  Her accent was faint.  She continued to compliment my shirt, my necklaces, my whole outfit and then the actual con began.  Or maybe it already had, but my diluted brain was so blown away by the compliment that I refused to accept what the reality actually was.

”Try this sample,” she said as she pushed a free product package into my hands.  

“Do you care about fine lines or dark spots?” She said next. Her words ran together without a breath in between.

Um, I thought as I glanced around to where my husband should be, but was not.  He had escaped. 

Smart man.

”Fine lines, I guess.” I said next.  Still a bit confused as to what was happening.

She then shooed me to a chair. A dark haired man, single scarf thrown over one shoulder, began to touch my face with one product after another.

“You have such nice skin,” he said.

And I blushed.  My esteem growing in leagues. I felt a tightening under the eye that he was working on.  He then pushed a mirror in front of my face.

”Can’t you tell a difference,” he asked, although it wasn’t really a question.

And I could actually, but when he showed me the price it was quite steep. Like 200 dollars for a small tube of what looked to be white paste and what promised to be a very temporary fix to a wrinkled face. 

I panicked, I will admit to that.

”I’m coming back in a few days,” I rushed to say.  “I will catch you then.”

”We are a pop up shop,” he replied with a look that reeked of dismay.  “We will be gone when you get back.”  Although I never told him when that would be.

”I’ll check out the website.” My voice raised a few octaves.

”It’s twice as much,” he chimed, twisting his neck to one side.

I finally had to shake my head no.  He gave me a look that resounded in you’re dead to me and then left me alone after putting a fluttered hand into the air. I was still sitting, one under eye completely clear of wrinkles while the other one was lined and puffy.

I finally made my way out of the self proclaimed pop up salon, head down, shoulders slumped.

My ego diminished to ant sized.

What did all that say about me, I wondered.  The fact that one compliment can spiral me into such a situation.

The blonde sales woman didn’t think my style was particularly unique.  That was a web that she was good at spinning and I, like a bug drawn to a bright light, fell into it all.

I don’t like being played.

I don’t like inauthentic people.

But 

are my feelings so low about myself that I will fall for such things, especially when I should know better.

I’ve been visiting this part of the world for close to seven years.

I should know when a sales person is wanting to get a person’s attention at this point.

But I obviously did not.

As I continued to walk through the airport I could feel my mood dip lower and then lower still as I realized a few things about myself.  

Why can’t I appreciate the person I am?

The way I look? 

and dress?

The way my belly lays

my butt sways

I don’t really know the answer and at 45 if I haven’t figured it out by now what does that make me?

A loss cause?

Surely not

hopefully not

There is still time, I think, to grow accustomed to and accept my own physicality

and I hope that time comes sooner rather than later

because

I’m very tired of the overthinking

the over doubting

the over talking (that is always negative in nature)

I want a moment of peace

a quiet for my brain

to accept

to enjoy

and to finally

finally

love the person I am