Like staring into the sun

No, he definitely didn’t fall out of the ugly tree.

How do you handle yourself when you’re in the presence of a truly gorgeous person?  I don’t mean run of the mill attractive, I mean so really, really, ridiculously good-looking that Ryan Gosling and Sofia Vergara would prefer not to be seen in their company. If you’re anything like me, you turn into a gibbering idiot.  Quite embarrassing considering I am used to very nice looking people – I’m married to an extremely handsome man.  Yep, batting above my average and loving it!  And no, he didn’t pay me to say that.

There are some people that glisten with an ethereal smattering of out-of-this-worldness that makes them so stunningly attractive it seems like they shouldn’t be walking the streets of Brisbane, rather on billboards over Times Square or mid-town Tokyo.  Some people are just so g-darned gorgeous, they’re not longed for this world.

Maybe it’s seeing these super-humans in a mundane setting, like the local pub or the Medicare office that throws me off, but I swear I can’t look directly at them.  It’s like staring into the sun – if I look at these stunners too long, I will permanently damage my retinas.  Or maybe I’m concerned that while drowning in the limpid pools of their irises, I will catch a glimpse of my own reflection and spontaneously combust after a very large shudder.

Several years ago at a friend’s birthday drinks at a famous Brisbane watering hole, a friend of her family turned up to help her celebrate.  To say he was handsome does not do him justice.  A modern day David combined with the dashing charisma of George Clooney begins to just touch the surface… Another friend, who happened to have her husband in attendance, grabbed the birthday girl by the arm and whisper-shrieked ‘Who is that?!’

‘Oh that’s just my friend, Blah-Blah.’  I can’t remember his name, I don’t think I was listening. I was busy trying not to feel the effects of whiplash from my neck swivelling between Pub Adonis and my shoes.

Anyway, Blah-Blah hung around the group all night and seemed to have the same effect on every woman, even when her husband or boyfriend was standing right next to her.  ‘How can someone that good-looking even exist?  He looks like he belongs on the cover of a romance novel, but I actually mean that in the nicest possible way.’  Hissed one of the girls.  ‘Sorry, hon.’ She said quietly to her boyfriend.  ‘Don’t worry.  I get it,’ he kindly excused her.  The boys seemed to be chatting away quite merrily with Blah-Blah and jostling to get closest to him – so the preternaturally good-looking have magical powers over any and all sexual persuasions, probably animals and bebes too.

I have personal experience that proves extraordinary good-lookingness defies gender.  Despite being straight, I’ve found myself tongue-tied and flushed in front of a lady telly journo at a press conference because she was so startlingly pretty.  Am I completely shallow that I was hoping she would want me to be her best friend just because she looked like the human embodiment of a flower and smelled better than just-baked bread, freshly mown grass and a baby’s head combined?

But after all this completely superficial nonsense, it’s amazing how the gloss can be so quickly removed with one poor taste comment, one stupid question (yes, there are stupid questions) or one racist/sexist/bigoted remark.  Case in point, an astonishingly gorgeous gent standing next to me at a bar was discussing the Indigenous All Stars Rugby League match in rather unsavoury terms with his mates.  Despite him using actual words, all I heard was: ‘blah blah blah, I’m a racist pig.  Yak yak yak, amazing I can manage to dress myself everyday considering my level of stupidity.’  Suddenly, the veil of attractiveness was removed, and there sat the elephant man’s less attractive brother.  And if it really was the elephant man’s less attractive brother and he told a very funny joke or gave up his seat for a little old lady, then his elephantine features would soften a little.

So I guess the moral of the story is, admiring gorgeous-ness makes me one superficial rabbit, but I know you can only stare into the sun for short periods of time before you go blind or get bored*.  Wow, that sounded really grubby.  Staring into the sun is not a euphemism for something else.

* Except for you, Mr C – I could stare at you all day long.