Never judge a book
by its cover or a woman
by how she looks.

One of these women looks like she could meet


any challenge. The other one looks like she could

make a green Jello mold taste good. But which

is which. Either woman could do either thing.

 

My friend Dora always tells me I’m too judgmental.

Hate to admit it but I am. I look at somebody and form

an instant opinion. I’m usually wrong.

 

I’m in my car at the corner of 53rd and Fifth Avenue waiting for the light to change. A dozen people are crossing in front of me and all I do is judge them by how they look. There goes the librarian, here comes the hooker….

Several years ago, I was asked to be one of the judges for one of the first People Magazine’s Best and Worst Dressed list. A young woman from the magazine showed me photographs of celebrities. I only remember photos of Cybill Shepperd, Mary Tyler Moore, and Dennis Rodman.

Cybill Shepperd was wearing a bright green outfit and I said she looked like the Jolly Green Giant. Why is it so much easier—and more fun—to criticize than to compliment?

I wonder what Cybill Shepperd would say about my blue eyeshadow, clumpy mascara, kohl eyeliner that doesn’t line right, lipstick that looks wonderful on everybody else but is always the wrong color on me.

I don’t want to think about what other women think about how I look. I haven’t had a full-length mirror in my house since the 1980s. Why get depressed?

Do I see what others see when I look in a mirror? Probably.

All I see are my flaws.

I don’t think men are as critical of a women’s looks as women are of other women. A woman looks at another woman and judges her from top to bottom, including her pocketbook.

A guy looks from top to bottom, too, but he’s not interested in the logo on her pocketbook. He sees nice boobs and a great ass and that’s mostly all he judges.

 

 

I judge men on how they look, too.

 

 

Big mustaches…only if they sing in a Barbershop quartet or they’re in a Witness Protection program.

Man bun…you like that?…you really can’t wait to hear him tell you how hot he is?

Bald in front and pony tail in back, favorite ice cream Ben&Jerry’s Cherry Garcia…the guy’s not aging well.

Stubble beard…needs more maintenance than Melania.

Goatee…come on, you know what that looks like.

Tattoos–The young guy who hands me my chicken nuggets at McDonald’s drive through—the one with snake tattoos on one arm and skeletons on the other…You want him to meet your daughter?

I know what you’re thinking. The world is falling apart and I’m judging how people are put together. The thing is I can’t do anything about the world but if that woman on the checkout line in front of me at ShopRite realized she’s too big to wear white jeggings without a tunic over them, the world would look a little better

 

You’re just a button click away– and I’d love to hear from you. 

 

About your world, your family, your joys and frustrations, growing up, growing older, even recipes–even though I stopped cooking–by request–years ago.

 

 

 

Goodbye until next time…

Hope your day turns out as well as I hope
(but doubt) mine will,

Gingy (Ilene)