Thank Heaven for Men from Guatemala

Last night, a wonderful friend and neighbor invited my husband and myself to see a performance of the Gypsy Kings. We told our kids we were going to a concert and wouldn't be home until late. They looked at us in shock. "You're going out?" Kyle asked in stunned disbelief. "To a concert?" Will piped in.

Yes kids, if felt like say, Mommy and Daddy are finally growing up. I must say it was difficult to get out of the house. We needed to manufacture a quick dinner, make sure homework assignments were completed, and bedtimes worked out. But as soon as we finally got to the concert and I sat down and listed to the wonderful latin music of the Gypsy Kings I was transported to another place. Music can do that to me. But tonight was particularly liberating. I watched a beautiful woman a few rows ahead dance to the latin beat. Wearing an off the shoulder blouse and a tight white skirt, she gracefully and seductively danced the latin hula. Her hands moved in grace as her body pulsated to the sexy latin beat.

I couldn't tell how old she was or if she had children who had already left home. All I saw was a sensual woman enjoying the moment. And she seemed to possess a sacred secret. She knew she was beautiful and sexy no matter how old she was or how old she would become. Inside, she was all woman and she was not ever going to let anyone tell her differently.

This got be thinking about a piece a wrote a few years back. I thought it was appropriate to share it with you today.

My stunning mother moved to America from Holland in 1947. She told me that when she first arrived in California she was convinced that she was ugly. She would walk down the street and not one man would whistle after her. This had never happened to her in Europe. By American standards she thought she was homely. It wasn’t until much later on that she realized American men rarely comment audibly on a beautiful woman as she walked down the street. That would be in bad taste. Classless? Or would it?

I have a friend from Guatemala. He is much younger than I am but always finds the time to flirt with me. He calls me “sunshine” and always has time to tease me and assure me that a great woman like me is hard to find.

I love him! I might have dog shit on my shoes, giant pimples on my nose, a middle age bulge, greasy hair, and be wearing mismatched baggy clothing. Still, I am a woman, and he notices!

I know he doesn’t find me superficially beautiful but still I know he sees something in me that was once there. He only met me recently but still I have the fantasy that he can see the fire in me, the sexy young girl I was once. It is almost as if by his very words he can coax the beauty out of me. It is like a dance. The more he flirts the more beautiful I become. Now what does that tell you?

It tells you that Guatemalan men are fabulous and I am more screwed up than I thought. Do I, a self-proclaimed feminist, really need an overly demonstrative bullshit artist to make me feel beautiful?

The answer is simple….Yes, I do.

Once, a long time age, Maurice Chevalier, playing a sexy playboy, crooned “Thank heaven for little girls.” He got that wrong.

“Thank heaven for men from Guatemala.”