She torments me almost every morning. As I walk my dog along the sidewalk, I hear the sound of a child's scooter behind me. This is not the motorcycle type scooter, it is the skateboard one, yet with a handle and an electric motor. First, I hear the buzz of the motor. Then before I know it, she is past me, such that my only view of her is from behind.
Every morning, as parents have dropped off their kids at school, she zips past me, away from the local school. I presume her child rode the scooter to school, accompanied by this Wonder Woman, and she is riding it back herself. Because she zooms by me each time from rear to forward, I have never seen her until she is past me. Alas, I have not seen her face.
This is an elegant woman, of that I am sure. I catch a whiff of her perfume and it harkens of jasmine. Her hair is ever perfectly combed and long, straight, black with a sheen. From the dark skin of her arms, I would guess she is Indian. Her poise on the kids scooter is confident and athletic.
"Do not judge a book by its cover" is a familiar refrain. My mother was a strong woman such that I have the highest respect for strong female characters. I do not objectify women. Yet, I am a man, and visual appearances stir deeply.
All I have ever seen of this woman is her figure from behind. And that is enough to give wings to my dreams.
Lord in heaven, is she perfectly proportioned. 10.5 on a scale of 10. A sculptor could not create a more perfect body. She wears yoga clothes each morning and takes amazing care of what the Lord has given her. And her hair is so dark, so long and lustrous, so full of life.
And so it was that today, I made a change to my routine. I began walking earlier and went the opposing direction. Today, when she came towards me on a scooter, my heart broke. For what I saw may have been the most wonderful person in the world, for all I know. Beauty comes from inside, yes?
But not knowing her inside, I saw the book's front cover for the first time. For the first time, that body had a front and it had a face.
Good heavens! It was Walter Matthau on a scooter! In this, I do not kid you. My heart shattered into a million pieces. How could my perfect goddess have such hideous wrinkles? Her face was a shriveled prune and no match for the rest of her graceful figure.
I went home, washed out my mouth with a bottle of SCOPE, and said 10 Hail Marys. Perhaps she is a great person to know, yet my interest in her is gone -- it that so wrong? I resolved not to judge a book by its cover, a cover that was perfect from behind and not so perfect on front side. Yet my dreams will never be the same.
Pictures from Pixabay except for Walter in the weight room montage parts, which do not seem copyrighted.