The Return To Innocence

I was in the office restroom, washing my hands and fixing my hair and inspecting my concealer's concealing power. In my mind I looked very unattractive; my hair was not cooperating and my skin was red and blemished. At the sink next to me stood a young woman -- probably a client of one of the lawyers, or just a visitor -- who was a vision of beauty. She was tall, with ivory skin, straight black hair to her waist, blue eyes, a slender yet curvy hourglass figure with muscle. Her lips were full. Her cheekbones were high.
I glanced at her in the mirror and decided I was nothing in comparison.
And then she looked at me and said I looked beautiful.
She said I looked exotic; she asked what my heritage was.
I was so taken aback that I blurted out my thoughts, that I thought she was lovelier than me, and that I was experiencing horribly low self-esteem. She giggled and admitted that she'd been staring at herself wishing she were different; shorter, not so pale, longer fingers, bigger eyes, straighter teeth. She asked what kind of concealer I used because she had a few pimples under what I thought was flawless makeup. She wished she had my kind of looks.
And I realized, belatedly, that she thought I was prettier than she was.
And then I realized that nobody is perfect.
Everyone thinks that everyone else is prettier.
And everyone is beautiful because there are so many kinds of beauty.
When I walked out of the bathroom, I was smiling and holding my head high.