Don't hate them because they're beautiful.

The other night at a restaurant, a gorgeous couple, the kind of absolutely gorgeous couple you’d see in a Paul Mitchell commercial, was sitting behind my wife and I. The guy was ripped and pony-tailed and totally inked. He was a hunk. She was also a hard body, which included her boobs, and she had a really short white-and-black-striped knit dress to showcase her tanned legs. She was blond.

  Naturally, I made some assumptions about them, though this couple proved me wrong. That’s not to say I discovered they were in the Peace Corps or were professors from the mid-west or poets specializing in the Victorians or something. No, they were sort of what I imagined, just way more extreme. They were beyond what any researcher could have profiled about the stereotypical LA-type Adonis.

  I know, I know, it’s sort of desperate and elitist and judgmental to eavesdrop like that but I honestly couldn’t help it. Believe me, if you were there, you wouldn’t have been able to help yourself, either. You’d find yourself presuming that they were a bit Fabio and Anna Nicole, and then you’d be drawn to the details, too. First of all, they weren't from LA; they were from Chicago. Go figure. These people were fascinating and became more so as dinner progressed.

  I was all ears. Here's the thing: they seemed to be reflecting about the burdens of having a perfect body. It was tough, apparently, to be so perfect. I had no idea! I was unaware that such perfection could be stressful like that. Mind you, I have no reference point for such thinking. If you know me, and have seen me, you understand that I have little in common with these people. So I was fascinated.

  She said, “I don’t feel insecure about my body.” It was like she was saying that she doesn’t let it get to her, though the potential for psychological turmoil is always looming.

  He confided that he struggled with it sometimes, that he wasn’t always, “comfortable that everybody wants a body like mine.” Now, to be fair, maybe he was wondering if everyone believed they should be muscle-bound like him and he wasn’t explaining himself very well, but it sounded to me like he believed his pulchritude was universally admirable and he was struggling with that.

  She assured him, “Oh, but you seem to handle it very well, “ as if he was truly courageous for braving the pressure.

  To each our own burden, I guess. Personally, while I more often than not don’t like what I see in the mirror and while I can euphemize those things below my ribs as love handles all I want, they are excess fat and, I guess, that’s my burden.

  I have to say, I enjoyed learning about a new point of view. This is one of the things I continue to enjoy about the business of advertising. With every new assignment, I get to put myself in another’s shoes, or alligator cowboy boots, as the case may be. I like that. I still like that.

  And it’s good to be surprised at the endless variety of characters out there. At the outset of every new challenge, it’s healthy to assume one doesn’t know the target. Even if that target turns out to be a little fucked up.