We have a little tradition at our apartment on Monday nights. It doesn't matter whose over, we must gather round and watch The Bachelor and provide amusing commentary. We mock the girls and their desperateness. We mock their poems. We mock them throwing themselves at the very hunky doctor. We mock and we mock. Mocking is my specialty.

However, I can't keep myself from wondering if I'm belittling their beauty only because I feel inadequate. All my life I have been raised to be the best. The most beautiful, the brightest, the best. Not because I was told this, but because nothing less was expected of me. It comes naturally to a certain extent, the standards of beauty are high in our family. My mother was a model and has aged fantastically. My sister is a beauty queen. My one sister could have been a model if she had chosen not to marry a pastor. My other sister is thirty yet is constantly asked if she is younger than me. They all beat men off with a stick. I have been conscious to gauge my attractiveness since I was quite young. I remember thinking I needed to diet when I was eight years old. I tried to wear makeup at ten. I was anorexic at thirteen. Bulemic at fifteen. I realize the stakes for beauty are high.

I have gotten past the point where I hyperventilate at the thought of second place, but thinking about being mediocre for the rest of my life sets my soul to gnawing.

Let's be frank. What woman doesn't want to be the most beautiful woman in the world? In the eyes of one or many. Success you can work at, but you can't really work at beauty. I don't know what it is that scares me. The thought of not being the best? The thought of not being the most beautiful? The thought of not HAVING someone who I consider my everything? And I, theirs? Perhaps I simply want the knowledge of knowing there could be love.

Though I do wonder, why is it that seeing perfectly goodlooking couples only unsettles me and not average looking ones?

When does the line between holding out for the best and being too demanding, drawn itself? Is it the best thing or the best for right now? What if I hold out for something great, but am not great enough myself? There are so many questions I ask myself. But the more I ask myself, the faster I drive myself into questioning circles.

This is not a marriage hungry post. Far, far from it. After two years of proposals, nothing sends me scuttering back to my cup of tea and stack of books faster than the premature talk of marriage. It's much more the psychotic and crazed ramblings of a woman who has watched reality television a little too long.

I think, stew, pontificate and worry. And then--I realize it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if there is someone out there for me. It doesn't matter if I am the best, the most beautiful, the most successful or the dazzling wonder woman that every man wants to marry.

It does matter that I remember daily I am crucified with Christ. There is no love more complete and perfect. This is the love that makes me beautiful.