Let Yourself Go

The only thing sitting between them was General Tao's Tofu, her demeanor more relaxed than his. He inquired as to how her week had been. She proceeded at first with a sigh, and continued to express her relief as that afternoon she had finished taking her last final exam. "Relaxed" was the word she used to describe her mood. "I can see that," came his sneer response as he eyed her T-shirt, sweats, and flip-flops.

He always jested with her about women's tendency to "let themselves go" (as he called it) once they felt the securities provided by a new relationship. He spoke of it as if he had already asked her to commit to him, and she was somehow letting him down by donning a pair of sweatpants. Nevertheless his snide remark stung, and sprung inside her a string of rebuttals which she regretfully never expressed. Countless times she had dressed and manicured herself to please him, and yet she was the one nagging him to shave off 2 weeks worth of stubble.

Now, almost 5 years later those scenes replayed themselves in her head again as she dressed in front of the mirror. She was tired. Tired of constantly maintaining her beauty in hopes that someday, someone, would look at her with more than just a little appreciation. If physical appearances aren't so important then why did he make her feel so inadequate over a pair of sweatpants? Life with him was always a double standard. Nothing was ever applicable to him. He was the ultimate exception.

She glanced in the mirror before turning out the light. She was just as beautiful today as she had been almost 5 years ago sitting in that little hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant, sweatpants and all.