People tell me all the time that I look just like Angelina Jolie, especially my two, non-jealous boyfriends, Alexander Skarsgard and Zachary Quinto. Unfortunately, somewhere between them telling me that and winning the Pulitzer of Blogging, I wake up.
So, no, I've never really been mistaken for Angelina. But, just a few years ago, I was considered by many to be quite the hot young thing. I had a string of boyfriends, and always guys fighting over me. (Any woman who tells you she doesn't like guys competing for her attention is a filthy liar, or has never had it happen.) I could go to clubs and the doorman wouldn't make me pay the cover charge, and I never had to buy my own drinks once I was inside.
Even the first few years after I was married, it wasn't so bad. I could flash my ring and got to say, "I'm flattered, but no thanks, I'm
married." At my work, where I got bonuses for large sales, I'd take my ring off. "Oh, I totally get that you only want to keep a betta fish and a few tetras. I just think they'd look amazing in this 250-gallon under some metal halide lighting." (Of course, I got my comeuppance once I got a stalker, who called the store about 20 times a day looking for me, and didn't understand why I never came on the service calls to his house. The manager finally asked him not to come in anymore.)
Despite getting creeped out by overbearing older guys a few times, I always enjoyed my harmless flirting. It was a nice self-esteem boost, and I always made sure I wasn't leading anyone on.
Then I got pregnant.
