I saw this beautiful girl this weekend. She had long, slightly curly dark brown hair, and luscious eyelashes. Her skin was smooth, flawless, glowing, healthy. Her pale lips were soft, and her teeth were pearly; together, they formed a perfect smile. Her body was firm, but delicate, and her clothes appeared to be made for her. I was so taken by her prettiness that I had to talk to her, see if her voice was as sweet as her bashful smile.

As I aproached her, a million things to say ran through my mind. Finally, I settled on stuttering, "N-nice shoes". She turned her face toward mine, smiling.

"Thanks, I like your hair," she replied, her voice as angelic as her visage.

I blushed, touching my wind-blown mane. I noticed that her own hair was held solid by too many styling products, and the color was the brassy green of a bad dye-job.

"So, um..." I said, taking in the glowing skin and phenomenal lashes, really just too much too-dark foundation and extra-thick mascara. She smiled more deeply, displaying small dimples, and less than perfect, nicotine-stained teeth.

"Where'd you get them?" I asked lamely. She answered me, but I didn't really pay attention. I was noticing how her seemingly perfect body was packed into a pair of pants two sizes too small, and a blouse that gapped at the buttons and sagged at the shoulders.

My spirit bruised by her deception, I muttered, "Hey, thanks" and walked away.