Hotness Scale Rebel

I specifically remember the first post of Katie’s I read because I was hit with this feeling that can only described as SHAZAAM. How do you not love an adorable, talented writer whose words drip with sarcasm and self-deprecating humor? Of course I informed her that day that we are soul sisters and that I love her and all kinds of bordering on inappropriate lovely things that probably would’ve made anyone else call 911…but not Katie. She is one cool cat.  Her blog is a compilation of her journey as an author which she generously shares with her readers, one of whom bugs her almost daily for advice. It’s totally not me. *laughs nervously and whispers I love you Katie Cross*

xo, Beth

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Where the scale of hotness is concerned, I broke the rules.

I married someone way hotter than me.

Before you throw tomatoes at me with You’re Beautiful Just The Way You Are written on them, let’s turn down the Bruno Mars song and have a frank discussion.

I grew up with a bowling ball face, a frizzy mess of curls a mile wide, and what curves I did have certainly weren’t in my chest. While I never had the curse of braces, the tune of ‘you’re just big boned,’ whistled in my ears from total strangers.

Trust me, that’s way worse than braces ‘cuz you can’t change bone structure.

I’d walk down the halls at school and hear my teachers say, “She has a great smile, doesn’t she?” While my brothers friends said, “Well, she’s not the brightest bulb on the tree.”

Fast forward a decade and I landed on my feet, a full-time RN, living in a downtown and working with kids. My career made me awesome, but not enough. Here’s the shocker: I was single. I dated all kinds of guys. I mean all kinds. I got an Air Force guy who yelled at me for not being willing to pick him up for our first date; a gentleman that worked for the forest service who was so quiet that I had to lean over my pasta to hear what he said; then there was Mr. Medical School Man. He used me for a few rides, a couch to crash on, then broke up with me over a text message.

Classy.

The common thread besides being total a**holes was this: they were all pretty much my facial equal. Attractive enough, but nothing so beautiful that I wanted to attach to it with suction cups and scream, “Never let me go!”

Then I met the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

I was twenty four. We’d been emailing for weeks via eHarmony before he flew out to see me. I’d already had a good feeling about this one, and I was a pro about dating vibes. I pulled out all the stops and dressed in my power outfit: black yoga pants, a vest with fuzz on the inside, and hiking boots.

Yes, hiking boots.

My curly hair is an entity until itself, so after an hour-and-a-half battle, I’d tamed the tresses into long, highlighted strands, then arrived at the airport with my hands steepled in prayer, begging the gods of first dates that I wouldn’t get sweaty pit stains. Which I so did.

He strode off the plane and right into my heart. The moment I saw him my mouth dropped open, my hands turned to ice, and all I could think of when I stared at his strong jaw and crooked smile was, hot damn.

He is way too attractive for me.

Although I stood there like a mute, he put his muscled arms around me in a warm hug. I melted like butter in southern Alabama on a hot July afternoon. My heart fluttered. Is this real? Is this a joke? He’s too beautiful. I could feel the suction cups forming on my fingertips. He wasn’t Calvin Klein model perfect: he was rugged, manly, five-shades-of-stubble-in-the-morning perfect.

I pulled myself back together, managed a somewhat coherent mumble, then started toward my car so I didn’t have to see his face. We enjoyed a forty five minute drive up a mountainous canyon to the famous Ruth’s Diner for brunch. My eyes never strayed from the road. His gleaming, angelic face would certainly blind me if I looked over.

More than that, I didn’t want to face the reality behind the voice in my head.

He’s way too hot! Scale of hotness is tipped! Must. Stop.

We sat across from each other at a shabby table and ordered eggs benedict with toast and OJ. I glanced up to find the truth again. He was beautiful. He was everything sturdy and strong that I ever wanted. The voice screeched on in the back of my mind.

You’re breaking the rules!

Never mind that we hit it off like a pair of gloves missing their mate. Never mind that his eyes sparkled when he laughed at my snarky comments because he thought I was funny. Never mind that he held my hand that night and it felt like coming home.

All I could think was: I can’t do it. I’d never match up. I have big hips and volatile hair. Doesn’t he see the issue here?

To my dismay, he didn’t seem to get it.

It would have been a lot easier if he would have just stepped away after the first date with a kind smile and flippant let’s do this again! just like the rest of them. But he didn’t. He wanted to see me in the morning, so I took action into my own hands. This handsome man would not be forced into an unequal relationship that surely he’d regret.

The next day, after styling my hair back into full-scale-curly-haired-massive-glory, and ensuring it was full and wild, (because who wouldn’t that scare off?) I picked him up from his friends house. My plan was already in action.

“Want to go for a run?” I asked.

That’ll show him, I thought with smug superiority. He’ll see my wobbly legs and butt trying to get up the hill and he’ll realize what I’ve known since the beginning.

“Of course!” he said, as I knew he would.

We ran up a mountain trail (where I practically reached down and grabbed handfuls of dirt to rub on my face as I went) and then back down. We laughed when he accidentally embarrassed himself by farting. We swapped stories about nightmare dates. We enjoyed the sun and crisp mountain air. He didn’t turn away in disgust, the jerk.

No, we just kept having a great time.

Three days later, my heart broke as I watched him walk back into the airport on Valentine’s Day. Our weekend of sharing frozen yogurt, cuddling up to Finding Nemo, and star gazing from the top of a mountain had altered my universe forever.

He’s my perfect match in all ways . . . except one.

I wouldn’t hear from him again, I already knew that. And really, who would blame him? The scale of hotness never lies. It cannot be broken. There was a Mrs. Perfect with blonde hair and blue eyes waiting for this Mr. Perfect. Except she was probably wearing heels, not hiking boots, and spreading her divine glitter over orphaned puppies. I couldn’t deprive the world of their stunning children, so I drank in his perfect smile and brown eyes until he disappeared from view.

Every heartbeat on my drive home caused me pain. Just as I was sitting down in front of the TV, Lifetime movie at the ready, a barrel of fun sized Snickers and a box of tissues in hand, the doorbell rang.

“For you,” a delivery man said, holding out a long box that said 1-800-Flowers on the side. I dropped the Snickers, snatched the box,  slammed the door in his face, ripped through the cardboard layers, and found a dozen red roses nestled inside. A note accompanied them.

Thanks for the perfect weekend of running, laughing, and playing. I can’t wait to see you again. I’ll call after my plane lands. Let’s talk all night.

My hands trembled. I blinked in disbelief and fell to the chair behind me.

The letter, and the gorgeous red flowers with dark veins running through the petals, were from him, there was no doubt. But how could that be?

The scale of hotness never lies.

Right?

After 3 years of gritty-faced runs, listening to him say I love your beautiful face, wife, and staring at his stubbled jaw, I’m finally beginning to see that perhaps the scale of hotness I judged myself by was never really a thing after all.
_________

katie cross
Katie Cross is obsessed with cookies and sweet potatoes. She doesn’t have children, but she puts up a pretty decent argument that her two puppies aren’t all that different. When she’s not trail running through mountains or staring at Husband’s attractive face, she’s writing YA fantasy novels, like the infamous Miss Mabel’s School for Girls. If you want to read about kick ass heroines that can do magic and fight with swords, you should also check out her very soon to be released (as in 10/15!) novel Antebellum Awakening.

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