The Power Of Pretty-Part 2

The girl was over 6 ft. tall, though whether it was the 5 in. heels she was wearing or the long, wild, streaked, "just F'd" hair that contributed more to her height, I couldn't say.

The girl wasn't wearing anything particularly revealing: tight jeans, but not so tight you'd wonder about her ability to breath, and a black animal print halter. No, it was the over all effect; the hair, lots of makeup, the heels, just that slight whiff of "dirty girl" that rendered every male in the gas station this afternoon speechless.

Her new, black, Jeep was on the other side of the pump island and we both had to go into the station. She was ahead of me and I had the opportunity to notice both the girl and the effect she had on the men. Her walk was quick, the heels clicking on the cement, her head down, surrounded by a curtain of hair. I recognized the walk, it said: "notice me, but I'm not going to notice you".

I recognized that walk because it was exactly my walk in my twenties. It's the walk of a girl who knows she has the power of pretty but clearly doesn't know what to do with it or what it can do to you. It's the walk of a girl who constructed her appearance to be noticed because she's looking for something, but she's unclear what that something is.

As she began to pump her gas she made eye contact with me and gave me a little half smile.

I know I was the only person in that station she made eye contact with. I was no threat to her. I'm not that girl anymore.