The Beautiful Apartment

Reluctantly, I put up a picture of me with a still beautiful member of the beautiful apartment.

When I was a sophomore in college, there was this one apartment that we all hated. We hated them because they were beautiful. They all had the kind of beauty that makes you stop and stare for just a moment. I would see them sometimes on campus or at church as they passed by a group of boys. It was clear the spell these girls could cast on men. Honestly, I wanted that power and so did my roommates. I suppose the worst part about the power the beautiful apartment wielded was that their beauty was more than skin deep. They were kind and friendly. They would smile and say hello to almost everyone. They remembered people’s names. My roommates and I envied them so much so that we almost turned green.

Fast forward eighteen years to when I attend our new congregation for the first time. I see a beautiful woman that looks incredibly familiar but I just can’t place her. She has the kind of beauty that you just stop and stare at for just a moment. It also seems that part of her beauty is her happiness and kindness. For a few months, I look at her and think I know her from somewhere. I finally decide that it must be from the last time we lived here in Washington and forget it. At last during our congregation’s Halloween trunk-or-treat, it hits me. She was in the beautiful apartment. She was one of those girls I hated. The only problem is that now I couldn’t possible hate her. She is one of the most kind and generous people in our congregation. She is always smiling and serving others. It is funny how time changes things. She is just as beautiful as she was eighteen years ago. She has also added a great husband and lovely children. However, it just doesn’t bother me anymore. I am happy with my life and how it has turned out. I am also genuinely happy that her life has turned out so well. This is the part I love about getting old. The trivial things of youth just don’t sting anymore.