Beauty

She stared into the mirror, wished she could utter the Queen's request. "Mirror, mirror on the wall...." What was the use? She was not beautiful. Nor was she rich. No plastic surgery for her. Oh to be beautiful, men admiring her, she'd be always in control, beckoning, ordering, playing, partying. But her face was not beautiful, passable perhaps, but not beautiful. Was it any use for her to wish the impossible? Was beauty so important? The media thinks so. Look at all the ads. Cream for this, cream for that, slimming, poises, massages, trimming. She picks up her brush. Yes, her hair was beautiful, smooth like a luscious green meadow. She smiled. Her face lit up. Incredible how such small lips could produce such an effect. Even the old woman whom she helped yesterday said so. You have a lovely smile and a big heart, she had said. But she did not say she was beautiful. Nor did her husband ever tell her so. He just called her "My treasure." And they always made love in perfect harmony, uplifting their hearts, passion uncontained. Again she smiled. Soon he'll be home for dinner and love. Did she need to be beautiful? Did she need to change her life? Was not all she possessed all for the best? Again she smiled. Her face, not beautiful perhaps, lit up in joy.