The Woe Of The Ugly Woman

This is a sad story. I don’t intend any mean-spiritedness by telling you all this story. My shiv is sheathed. My purpose in passing along this real life anecdote is to expose the heartlessness of the sexual market so that you and those you love can know the monster who stalks you till the end. You won’t defeat this monster, but you can avoid accidentally stepping into its maw before your time.

A lanky White woman hit on me once. She was thin, but ugly. At the time, I rebuffed her plausibly-concealed solicitation. Over the months that followed, I would see her occasionally, here and there, around our itty bitty city, usually alone or working at a service job. The months turned into a few years. Still, I would catch glimpses of her every so often, working different low-pay service jobs.

I left the city, but my travels would take me back there sometimes, for month-long stays. Again, and weirdly coincidental, I saw her about town. And again, she was working in the service industry. Job-hopping from one middling wage outpost to another had become her lifestyle. Still ugly, but now older too.

In all these incidental path-crossings, I’d sometimes catch a look of recognition sweep across her face, but not always. I nonetheless pretended not to recognize her.

I would always feel sad when I saw her, because I knew if she were more attractive her life would be very different. A man of means would have scooped her up years ago, rescued her from that wage slave crush of unmarried despair, and given her the life so many women dream about as little girls. The house, the yard, the children, the comfort, the sense that the future is safe and secured and she is loved….all of it would have been hers if the God of Biomechanics had been more generous to her when the spark of life was breathed into her earthly story.

No pretty girl suffers the indignities of the callous job market for long. Men value female beauty so much they will bend metal with their minds if it can give them a hot girlfriend or wife. To rescue a fetching minx from soulkilling drudgery and sweep her into the good life is in fact many men’s fantasy.

If the woman of my anecdote were prettier, she could be that happy effervescent lady from the suburbs who picks up her coffee and pities the poor sub-prime ugly woman behind the counter taking her payment.

In the final abacus, sometimes all the difference between hell and heaven is a few millimeters of facial bone structure.

I can never stop forgetting this banal, gutter-bound ugly truth, which is why, even in my sincerest moments of heavenward yearning, I’m compelled to scoff at anything greater than this dirty muck which shackles us.