Sans Fig Leaf
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"Fishin'"
30 August, 2006
"I just wish people would stop talking about my body!" an acquaintance (we'll call him Todd) once exlaimed. "Why is it that the only attention I get is from shallow people who want to tell me how cute I am or how hot or whatever, and are never interested in actually getting to know me?"
Todd was dressed in his usual attire for days where the temperature was above sixty: super tight short-shorts and a tight t-shirt. Todd spent at least 30 hours each week working out, and probably nearly the same amount of time getting his hair just right. The only things in his wardrobe were either these super-tight next-to-nothings, or the latest and most stylish stuff from whatever boutique was the cutting edge of fashion at the time.
I wasn't the only person at the table who laughed at Todd's statement.
When it was pointed out to him that the way he dressed and acted invited that kind of attention, he sulkily asserted that it wasn't his fault that he was pretty. If only it were that simple.
Truth be told, Todd was only slightly better looking than average--until he did his hair, touched up his foundation, and put on his carefully chosen clothes. Todd didn't just flaunt his good looks, he cultivated them, enhanced them, highlighted them, and paraded them up and down every possible venue. It was no wonder he got so much attention.
Most of the time he seemed to love the attention. He flirted with and teased the people who noticed how good he looked. He laughed at all the jokes and pick-up lines, no matter how lame. He smiled and giggled and played the airhead routine to the hilt.
He always seemed to be dating someone new. I only saw one or two of his relationships last more than a few weeks. Even when some guy thought they were an item, Todd would be seeing someone else on the side--or at least letting people buy him drinks at the club.
His outburst was the first sign I'd seen that he was less than happy with the amount and kind of attention he was getting.
But he wasn't the first person I'd heard make that kind of complaint. Years before I had known a young woman who always seemed to be in the midst of some kind of crisis. A close family member would be diagnosed with a serious illness one week, the next her boss was making unrealistic demands or a co-worker was screwing up her life out of spite. The week after that her car would break down. Or an old friend she hadn't heard from in years had been in an accident.
Even when nothing external was going wrong, she was always in the midst of being either angry or depressed about something. She would be unhappy about her skill in something, and would complain long and loud about how bad she was. Which seemed to make everyone who knew her rush in to assure her that she was a great writer or cook or friend or whatever.
She was never lonely for attention. Yet, she complained most bitterly about the people that were always trying to cheer her up or the sad, lonely guys who followed her around like puppies.
My grandpa used to say with the proper bait you can catch just about anything--and even with the improper bait you're liable to hook something.
Whether you hook what you're after is another question altogether. But if you reel in an undesirable fish time after time, and keep sticking to the same bait, then you've got no one to blame but yourself.
--Aristotle
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