by Paul Tenoire

Created on: October 28, 2010

A man's view of two very different women...

Stephanie (not her real name), was a physically beautiful girl. From the moment she was born, everyone said how gorgeous she was. Her eyes were like blue stars, her skin pure and unblemished, her golden hair shone with a glorious brilliance.

In school, all the little boys were mad for her. She received compliments from everyone who knew her and every single birthday her room was full of gifts. She was, as they say, a veritable goddess, blessed with the beauty of Aphrodite herself.

In time, she married a very wealthy man who gave her only the best that money could buy because, after all, Stephanie was so beautiful that she deserved only the best in life. Mansions, yachts, furs, limousines, these were the prizes that Stephanie’s beauty had gained for her.

But as the years went by, Stephanie became something which was not so beautiful. She bestowed her  friendship only on those whom she thought she could get something from. Moreover, she would never be seen with those whom she thought were physically unattractive, for she only wanted to be seen with the perfect ones. Athletes, movie stars, models, all these were  her friends.

Handicapped people, disfigured people, the poor, the lame and the mute, all these were strictly forbidden to enter her world of perfection, for indeed, she had come to see herself as perfect, and hence, only perfect people were invited in.

For wasn’t it true, she told herself, that every time she looked in the mirror, it was perfection that looked back?

Then, much too quickly it seemed, old age came, and now, when she looked in the mirror, all she could see were the lines that had slowly etched themselves across her face, lines etched by the mean and cruel things she had done to others, each and every one.

Now, the only thing which stared back at her was the image of who she really was, and it was not a pretty sight. When her last day on earth finally came and she was on her death-bed, Stephanie cursed God for having given her such an imperfect life.

Agnes, on the other hand, was born quite plain. Her hair was dark and thin, her skin pale and rough, her eyes somber and deep.

From the moment she was born, people preferred to say nothing about her appearance, rather than say what they really thought.

In other words, they tried to be nice about it.

In school,  Agnes was teased about her plain looks. None of the boys cared about her. They

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