There I was, minding my own business, walking to a church meeting. Out of the corner of my ever-observant ears I heard a person who shall remain nameless because he annoys me discussing the “cuteness” of various girls. I couldn’t hear all he was saying. But he did turn around and say, “Your name’s Tamara, right?” Wrong. “It’s Tamsen, actually.” “Oh.”
Continuing into the gym, looking for a seat, I heard the same conversation pursuing. To his friend, said annoying person declared, “You can sit by Tamsen, she’s cute.” My interior monologue immediately changed to, “Run away, run away, run away. Find seat next to a person I like.”
Luckily, I found a seat next to my friend who has a fantastic love of feta cheese.
Being called cute is hardly the most upsetting thing ever. But it bothered me because I can envision this guy scanning a group of girls saying, “Cute. Cute. Not cute. Ew. Sorta cute. Too cute. Cute.” I don’t like it. I don’t like that the only reason some guy should sit next to me is because he thinks I’m cute. Do I make observations about which guys I find attractive? Of course. But that’s not why I sit next to or talk to them. I talk to them because they make me laugh or teach me new things or have interesting stories or think critically or treat me like a human being instead of a doormat or pretty picture. I’ll not deny when I find a guy attractive. But I will never rely on his physical attributes for determining if he is a person I want to take into my life. And honestly, all those other things are in the end much more attractive than any physical attributes I like.
I have a Bachelor of Arts in Anthropology. I manage three separate blogs. I am quickly becoming the best baker in the world. I write stories, poems, articles. I read and learn new things. I’ve been published on HelloGiggles.com twice! I run half marathons. I was accepted into one of the top Masters programs for Journalism in the country. I sew costumes. I’m attempting to learn both French and Italian fluently. I taught myself to make artisan bread. I’m testing the validity of creating my own mind palace like Sherlock Holmes has. I do all these great things and what’s the reason a guy should sit next to me? Because I’m cute? No, that’s just annoying.
I’ll graciously accept a compliment. I’m not opposed to compliments. But when the only compliments a guy can come up with are attributed to how I look, and when that is the only motivation for sitting next to me, I will run away. Literally.