Whose Beauty Is It?

Yesterday something odd happened. I was at Panera and thought I was ordering my food. The cashier made a few corny jokes and then before I left said: “I hope your day is as beautiful as you are.” I didn’t say anything and just walked away a little puzzled about what had happened. (and also without my order number because he was too busy hitting on me to do his job) So as I sat there waiting for my sandwich I thought about what just happened and that has continued until now. 

Honestly, when he first said it, I felt creeped out, but I tried to be nice about it. I tried to tell myself, just take it as a compliment and go on, what’s it hurt to have some tell you you’re beautiful? 

When I was leaving I was validated in my gut feeling to be creeped out and somewhat violated as I ran into the gentleman again (he was coming back from break as I was leaving) and he saw me, smiled, and said: “fancy seeing you here.” Again I said nothing and walked away quickly thanking God that it was the middle of the day with people around and hoping that I never see this guy again. 

So now I’ve thought of this from many angles. Maybe he was just trying to be nice or trying to flirt with me so I’d be interested in seeing him again (so maybe he didn’t see the ring on my finger also). Maybe he took my niceness and smile as something more than me being a kind person. And maybe, or definitely, I should have said something back, because that is the part I have control over. 

Maybe I should have said something like “My beauty is not yours to comment on.” Because it’s not. I did not dress this way (a loose-fitting, high-collared shirt with a sweater) so that you may look at me and make an opinion. I did not fix my hair or put on make-up so that you could make lame jokes and then use a quick line like it should get you somewhere. 

Here’s the thing, my beauty is not yours to comment on and I am not an object for you to decide at face-value, beautiful or not. In mulling over this for the last 24 hours I’ve realized, beauty is an intimate thing. It’s mine to feel when I catch myself in the mirror between chasing after my two small children. It’s my husband’s to feel in those moments when you look at your love, amongst the mess of your day-to-day life and realize how much love you have for that person and how much beauty they bring to your world. It is my children’s to feel as they play with my hair, giggling as they cover and uncover my face to play peek-a-boo. It is God’s, as I am another part of creation, which was lovingly created in the image of God and in beauty and brokenness gets to be called child of God. 

It’s not for someone who doesn’t know my gifts, my passion, my love, or even my name. 

So later today, I will kindly call the manager to ask him to tell the cashier that I did not appreciate this, it made me uncomfortable, it was completely inappropriate, and I hope that this does not happen again, to myself, or others.