Tell me I'm pretty

You're pretty.  Sometimes it's what a girl needs to hear.  I know that this sentiment goes against the popular opinion today and I agree that women should be honored for much more than their looks.  They should be honored and respected for their character, their strength, their compassion and their knowledge.  I agree with all of that.  I am also a woman who has grown up in a time in which enormous strides have been made for the equality of women.  I have seen the first women CEO's and the first woman presidential candidate.  All that aside, the little girl in me just wants to hear "you're pretty" from time to time.

Some girls grow up living in pink rooms, hosting tea parties, playing dress up and attending dance classes.  I grew up in a blue room with a blue carpet because until I was born my parents thought I was going to be a boy (my mom chose not to have an ultrasound).  I played sports and was able to drive my dad's payloader by the time I was 9.  I was always told I was smart, that I had potential, that I was going to succeed and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.  So why is it that sometimes I just wanted people to say to me "you're pretty?"  Perhaps its because we are a visual culture.  I've even written about the media's obsession with the perfect body in previous posts and how it's damaging to women. 

That is why I had to laugh when I walked up to my car in a parking lot a few days ago and found this note.

Gee, thanks!

It was stuffed into my door handle and for a moment, I was afraid. I thought I was going to find a note that said "I backed up into your car and I have no insurance.  Sorry = (."  Instead, I open the note to find that not only does a random stranger in a community college parking lot think that I'm pretty ... he thinks I'm beautiful.  The little girl in me squealed for joy but then the adult noticed the poor grammar.  The confusion of your and you're is one of my greatest pet peeves.

I'm a married woman.  I have a husband who tells me that he loves me everyday.  So why does a handwritten, albeit creepy note with a stranger's phone number on it put a smile on my face?  Because it was unsolicited and just what I needed on a cold, gray day.  

I know that this post will probably anger some people, but please search your heart and think about how it makes you feel when someone says "you're pretty."