She is just beautiful. I think she’s probably the most striking woman I’ve seen in here, yet. At the moment, I can’t seem to marry her beauty to a particular era or style, but my gut is telling me so. And she always looks glamorous. Today she moves through a rich, forest green, short, silk dress. It could totally be misread as a silk gown for bed, comfy yet elegant. She has the privilege of owning the thickest, richest, healthiest hair, with soft waves cascading down her back and shoulders. Ok, sounds like I’m overreacting but it’s true. I’m going to call her by her last name, because it’s a pretty unique one, “Denja,” almost like, “danger”.
She visits the doctor every so often, but never schedules an appointment; it’s always on the day of. I don’t mind; it’s a pleasure to see her. Eye candy. I finally have the courage to ask her what she does. Ex-model? “Oh, I’m a marketing director.” Is this what most marketing directors look like? Dress, and all? She actually responds to my question like she enjoys her job, even though I’ve met many a marketing director and none of them look a) as gorgeous and b) so easy going and non-stressful. And who of them has time for acupuncture during business hours? Is this even possible?
“I’m currently working on a Tidbits project…?” She says this to me with a question at the end of her remark, to make sure I’m aware of the product. “Ok, yeah, I know it” (note to self: Google “tidbits/tedbits” later). “They’re doing a huge re-branding and that’s where my team comes in. Wanna know who’s going to be the face of the launch?” I nod my head like a happy puppy. “Linda Evangelista.” I shout, “For real? Wow. Blast from the past.” “Yeah, you’d be surprised. They did really well with the final image.” I have a puzzled look on my face. “Oh, she looks completely different.” “Really?” I say. “Oh, it’s awful. When she showed up for the shoot, I accidentally mistook her for the seamstress!” “Your kidding?!” I watch myself match her energy organically,
“She’s had a child, so she’s a little frumpier, I think the only difference is she’s more plain. Normal. Like one of us.” I’m sorry, did Denja just put me in her category? She signs the credit card slip and prepares her bag for the road. Nostalgically, she shares with me, “Oh, I miss the 80s/supermodel era. You know, the Cindy Crawford’s and Claudia Schiffer’s? These women were beautiful and curvy and real.”
And that’s when it hits me. Denja’s beauty fits in quite perfectly to the models of the 80s. But she’s out the door before I can say anything. And I’m not sure if I would.