Beauty Is Skin Deep

Beauty is only skin deep, it’s what’s inside that counts. I’ve heard that phrase countless times from my grandmother, in books, and entire movies pump that concept. My favorite being The Phantom of the Opera where the beautiful Christine is loved by the hideously disfigured Phantom until he wins her love in return. I always sigh at how wonderful to be loved so intensely even if having to live underground in a sewer.

My daughter and her friends all have MySpace pages. And, I, being a concerned and alert mother, have one, too. Mostly to peek at her’s and make sure nothing is on it that some pervy stalker could use, and also to say "Hi." Her friends are still at an age where they want me to be MySpace friends with them and they will even post a "Hi, Ms. Darcie," making me feel warm and fuzzy.

Now many adults use MySpace to keep up with friends. The page has a spot to post a picture of yourself for people to see who you are. Now any woman over the age of 27 is self-conscious about what picture to post. Just in case someone may view it that knew me at 20, I don’t want them thinking that I am not still 20 years old, bikini wearing, and my hair is still brown.

I sometimes use as my photo a little animated young woman with short fluffy hair, standing on a snowy mountain, wearing skiglasses and holding a snowball so people will know that’s who I am. After all, the one time I went skiing, it was a life defining moment and I will forever be an expert skiier. I decided not to use her on my page, I use her on my other webpage. For awhile I used a picture of a fish.

I like fish. It was pretty. But I quickly forgot I had used the fish and always wondered why there was a picture of a fish on my page. I thought maybe it was karma. I like fish and the random picture that appeared was always a fish.

Then one day I spent a few minutes thinking and realized the fish was me. So after much thought I picked a different picture. Who better than Herb Dean, the 6 ft 5, muscle bound, dreadlock wearing referee from the UFC extreme cagefighting. I love Herb Dean.

And no one messes with Herb Dean. When cagefighters are misbehaving, Herb Dean breaks it up like none other. When he’s smearing vaseline over the upcoming fighter’s cheekbones, they wouldn’t dare give him any lip. And when a fighter gets hurt too badly, Herb Dean quickly notices and calls the fight while brutally hauling the other guy off the injured man. And if no one messes with Herb Dean, no pervy stalker will mess with me. And if it’s Herb Dean that shows up as one of my daughter’s MySpace top friends, no pervy stalker will mess with my daughter.

But then I forgot I was Herb Dean. So I stumbled across the button that invites all your email buddies to be your MySpace friend. Clicking it, I went about my day.

What then amazed me is how many friends did not want to be friends with me as Herb Dean. How people that I thought loved me for me, really only loved the 40 year old, starting to wrinkle, puffy haired me. They didn’t love me as Herb Dean. Maybe they were scared I would punch them!

One friend wrote back and asked if this was the Darcie she knew while living in Bossier. Now how many Darcie’s could she have known while living in Bossier? Its not like she knew dozens of Darcie’s. Another accepted, but told me she liked me better as the fish. And my son’s girlfriend just accepted my invite, with no comment on me being Herb Dean. Shows how long she’s been around this family. Most of my friends didn’t even respond. They did not want to be my friend if I was Herb Dean.

Sullen and depressed I realized that my grandmother and the movie stars were wrong. It’s not what’s inside that must matter most. Because even after over 2 hours of the Phantom singing and fighting and calling out his undying love for Christine, she still kicked sand in his face and ran off with the young, handsome, blonde.