Page 11 of The Dating Game

“Okay, fine,” Sydney says. I almost swerve out of my lane.

“Wait? What? Really?”

“Yup,” she confirms. “You can have another try.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s great. I knew you would see things my way—”

“Hold on,” Sydney cuts in. “Don’t celebrate just yet. I’ll let you have another chance at the bet, but this time I get to pick the guy.”

“Oh.” My excitement vanishes. “But that doesn’t make sense. The whole point of you winning the bet was that I would then let you pick the next guy I date, and now that’s what you’re asking to do.”

“No,” she corrects, “that was the point of the bet for me, but let’s be honest, you only ever took the bet in the first place because you wanted me to go out on some dates, and then you stayed with Grant for so longnotbecause you were worried about me picking out your next boyfriend but because you wanted me to go out on those dates. Am I right?”

See. Brooke lie detector. She sees right through me. No matter what I do. It’s like a superpower. An oddly specific one with very little benefit to the general public, but a superpower nonetheless.

“Maybe,” I say carefully, running my hands around the steering wheel.

“Well, so this way we’re both getting what we want,” she says diplomatically. “I get to pick you a guy that’s way better than all the duds you usually pick, and if you can stick with the guy for three months then I have to go out on a date.”

“It was five dates,” I protest.

“Yes, but now it’s one.”

“One! That’s nothing.”

“No. Nothing would be zero. One is one.” She dismisses my concern with a wave of her hand. “Besides, it’s the best offer you’re going to get. The other option is that I just cash in my winning of the bet and choose a guy for you.”

I am stewing. That’s the only word for it. What a complete disaster this night has been.

“C’mon, Brooke,” she urges me. “Take the new bet. Shake things up. Live a little.”

Ouch. Her words are like a hard bump to the already fragile state of my psyche. Boring. That’s what Grant called me. And Sydney clearly agrees.

“What makes you so sure the guy you pick will even want to go out with me?” I say grumpily.

“Please, when have you ever had trouble getting a guy to ask you out?” Sydney waves away my concern. “It’s annoying actually, having a best friend that’s so gorgeous.”

Her words do nothing to bolster my spirits. Once again they’re an echo of Grant’s aspersions on my character.Sure you’re gorgeous, but your good looks are only going to get you so far with a guy, Brooke.

Gosh, he makes me sound like a Barbie doll. Or a valley girl. A dumb blonde. An airhead.

Or maybe some part of me has just always believed those things about myself. Old wounds seem to crack open inside of me as I reflect on this. Growing up I got complimented on my looks a lot. Which sounds nice in theory, but when it’s the only thing you get complimented on, well, it messes with your head a little bit.

Are looks all that matter? The Bible says not in the least. In fact I could probably name a dozen Bible verses that say as much.

God does not see the same way people see, people look at the outside of a person, but the Lord looks at theheart.

Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.

Your beauty should not come from outward adornment…rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.

Just to name just a few.

And even popular culture at least verbally—if not in actual practice—asserts the same idea: it’s what’s on the inside that counts. Looks don’t matter.

But if looks don’t matter, why is that all that gets noticed about me? Is it simply because I lack any actual substance, any true character traits worth praising?

If looks don’t matter, but that’s all I have going for me, then do I not matter?

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