Babelicious me?

As we sat down by the fountain to rest our tired feet last evening, we started counting the number of babes that walked by. And it was then I found myself wondering what it takes to be a babe (read: gorgeous-looking girl). The issue of how I looked is secondary in my life for I'd always thought it's the brains and the inside (no, not innards and organs, inner beauty duh) that matter. But I realised, with the coming of age, it's actually the outside that matters. Even Wilma Flintstone wore pearls!

Much as I can deny now, I remember giving cute guys a second, or a tenth, look when they walked by, even when I was only 16. Yea, I couldn't help my eye-feast; good-looking guys are simply just eye-candy. And did I ever give clever geeks a glance? Erm, I think I didn't, but you can't really blame me for in the first place, they did not have "I'm smart!" tattooed across their foreheads, so how was Shallow-Jo supposed to know?

And so, that was when I seriously wondered if I'll ever make it to the babe chart in my lifetime. And for a very good cause, I might add - NOT in a sarcastic way. Imagine this chain effect: the level of esteem that would be added to my confidence level, given my being a successful human being with my ability to make heads turn and consequently, the way I look at life, my life, and perhaps too, how the world might become a better place because there's one more happy person on earth.

But at the end of the day, I figured that it's too much work, too costly and not me. So, that was then that the babe plan was shelved for the moment until perhaps the next babe walks by...