A friend from college, whom I have not seen for almost 20 years but found through Facebook (so FB is good for something other than wasting time), married a former Dallas Cowboys cheerleader.
Which impressed me.
The Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders are perfect. You get the fantasy girl with none of the sleaze. They are pretty with fabulous figures (a little thin) but are also wholesome. They are Playboy centerfolds you can take home to mom. These girls are not Cowboys cheerleaders. They are "dancers" on Bourbon Street.
And I am trying to figure out why.
Would I hold my friend (let's call him "Bob") in disdain if I were from Cambridge and considered myself Above All That? A Serious Birkenstock-wearing Intellectual Feminist who did not shave my legs or under my arms and wanted to be loved only for my mind, forgetting the fact that attractive packaging does not mean invalid contents?
Am I impressed because I lived 17 years of my life in Texas and many little girls in Texas aspire to be Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders or Miss America or both and really, it's not an unrealistic desire because Texas does produce a lot of Miss Americas*?
Bob and I hung out a lot in the late 80s when I had to travel to Dallas for work frequently. I don't think SH will mind if I mention that I had a bit of a crush on Bob, but it never would have worked (not the least because crushes must be reciprocated). Bob is a straight-arrow** Baptist and his parents even more so, to the extent that his mom cried when he picked Rice over Baylor. His mom also was not thrilled with Bob's friendship with a Catholic girl, although his parents were never anything less than gracious to me. Ha. Little did I know that Baptist parents would have been a piece of cake. But I digress.
Perhaps one of the lowest points in my dating life was when I had a guy over for dinner one night -- one of the two times in my life I have ever been drunk -- and Bob called. "Bob!" I yelled into the phone. "I'm seeing a guy who looks JUST LIKE YOU! And he REALLY REMINDS ME OF YOU!"
Yeah. Class act, that.
When my sister moved to Dallas for school, I told her to call Bob, then they started hanging out, which made me very jealous. She told me she even kissed him, which I don't know if is true or not, but still. Crush stealer.
So. Why am I so impressed that Bob married a Cowboys cheerleader? Whose photos are posted on FB? A current one and one from her cheerleading days***?
Probably because I know that she is not only beautiful -- the evidence is there -- but that she is also smart, because Bob has too much going on intellectually to put up with just a pretty face, and that if she is his standard for an acceptable wife, his standards are pretty good, and what does that imply about his standards just for hanging-out, flirting friends, and what does that say about me?
It's all good.
* I know a Miss America. Personally. Yes. I do. I could get a Miss America on the phone RIGHT NOW if I wanted to. Well. If she was in the office. If she wasn't, I could leave a message. Are you impressed?
** To this day, I remember what Bob said when I asked him about the rent money he got from having a roommate in his house. "Of course I declare it on my taxes. A man who will cheat on his taxes will do anything." I have never been tempted to cheat on my taxes because his words echo in my head every year, although I substitute "woman" for the "man" part, of course.
*** Oh man she was so thin. Too thin. She wrote that all she ate every day was an apple and a Lean Cuisine. You know she was working out a lot, too. She is gorgeous now and has a lovely, not too thin figure.