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2003-01-16 - 11:41 p.m.

The girl with the perfect body in our office always seems to find a way to be front and center, dramatizing her job, talking loudly and with confidence. The girl with the perfect body approaches every situation as though she owns it, as though it exists to give her a chance to shine, and so she does.

She makes a big show of always munching on junk food, as if to show us all that not only is she perfect looking, but she doesn't even have to work at it. All of her clothes fit like a second skin, snug but not quite tight. They are the clothes that make the rest of us say, when we shop, "Who do they design clothes for?" They never fit us, but they always fit her. She's tall, but not towering, thin but not gaunt. Not one extra ounce of flesh bubbles at her waist when she bends, and we all know that because most of her shirts stop a few inches short of the waist revealing a strip of belly, taut and tan even in the winter.

She isn't a great beauty but she has this amazing body and long, shiny dark hair that moves with her like a flag, never seeming to fall into any ungraceful arrangement. This, I realize is better than beauty. It is the ultimate social trump card. When I was younger, I would have been jealous of her. I would have looked for any reason to dislike or discredit her, if only in my own mind. Or more likely I would have used her presence as a reason to dislike or discredit myself, because that was the path down which most envies led me. She's one of those girls who actually follows football, whose hobby is cable tv, who tells people to "have a good one." I most certainly would have repeated as my daily mantra: at least she's shallow.

But one of the things I suppose I have learned with age is that I am not in competition with everyone else around me and particularly not with people half my age. I feel more at peace with myself, imperfections and all. And so have become more of an observer, able to watch and analyze the social dynamics.

I have notice that although the girl with the perfect body is not in a particularly high level position at work, she is afforded more respect and given more leeway than her predecessor (an overweight middle aged woman). She gets away with wearing clothes that push the accepted standards-- like the bare midriff tops, capri pants, flip-flops.... presumably because on her nothing looks bad. She gets away with coming in late and taking long lunches and slumping in her chair with headphones on, playing solitaire on her computer. Not that she doesn't do her work, but somehow she is able to escape the obligation to appear buttoned up and busy in the office. She is used to having doors swing open for her and she doesn't question it. In fact she would probably just say it was all her own hard work.

She isn't a bad person. She's been reasonably nice to work with, and she's good with the customers (especially the men... go figure) And when I've caught myself in a little snit of annoyance at her for showing off, I've asked myself: "What would you be like if you had a perfect body?" And if I am really honest, I would say that I might do some of the same things. I have a theory that the shape of ones' body and the degree to which it is socially acceptable, and the degree to which it is a disappointment or a fulfillment to us is a critical point in the shaping of personality. So I don't know for certain, but I think that if I looked spectacular in anything, I might not be so fond of baggy sweaters and corduroys. And if my power over people was tangible would I be able to resist using it? Most of the time I don't blame her....

But there is one thing I do blame her for: her small cruelties. Even though she has so much of what our society rewards, she still cannot find any generosity in her spirit.

One day some of the staff were discussing summer jobs they had in high school, and she said: "I used to work as a lifeguard and I loved it, but I wouldn't do it now because I just don't look good enough in a bathing suit." The whole conversation sort of went dead. The implication was that if she didn't look good in a bathing suit, then the rest of us shouldn't be allowed within twenty miles of a pool. It suddenly cast the casual conversation in a different light. If someone so perfect could actually think of limiting her activities (and I'm sure it was not sincere) because of some slight hint of a flaw, then should we even be allowed out in public? I marvelled at that remark.... how words that seem self-effacing can become a slap in the face when used in a disingenuous way.

And then this morning I heard her call out to Brendan: "Hey, there's THE BODY." This remark was met with dead silence, as Brendan uncharacteristically was at a loss for words, trying to figure out how to react to what seemed very much like a cruel joke. Because Brendan is the last person to whom you would attach that moniker. He is short and almost painfully thin, the kind of guy who lives in his head and has learned to deal with those who would kick sand in his face by being clever and personable.

"Why" he finally says in measured tones "did you call me that?"

And she breezily replies: "Oh.... somebody called ME that, and I thought I'd pass it on."

Of course somebody called her that. Of course she loved it. Of course she wanted more of an audience for the attention, and so she devised this mean reason to repeat it. I do blame her for that. I find it hard to believe that a person would seemingly lack all ability to discern how their remarks would make others feel. But I shouldn't because I am surrounded by it everyday, the evidence of small cruelties that people impose on each other. Something in our culture has taught us that we have a right to hurt others just because we can. And so it becomes an almost subversive act to lay down the weapons of competition and make room in your consciousness for others, perfect or imperfect. But there is always an irony to these types of conclusions, because they appeal to people like me. The girl with the perfect body doesn't think of this. She doesn't have to, and maybe she never will.

(At least she's shallow....)

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