So, lately I've noticed the scale dwindling in numbers after climbing back up in the early part of the fall. This summer while I was up in Canada I lost almost 15 pounds. It was awesome.....until I came home and gained it all back. Well lately, the stress of our life, and not hving the money to eat out everyday, I'm back down another 9 pounds again. I should be happy right?
Sigh, I guess I really am a woman. After this latest "victory" on the scale, I stripped and stood in front of the bathroom mirror with a tape measure, trying not to notice that the phalanx of glaring lights illuminated every blemish, ripple and roll. I stared down at my toes to avoid looking at my midsection, and sighed in resignation as the dialogue of scathing self-criticism commenced.
Me: Holy Crap, we have some wide-ass feet.
Myself: Hm. I don't believe we have ever seen anybody else with perfectly square feet.
I: Somebody should call Guiness.
Me: We probably shouldn't paint our toes that particular shade of coral, then.
Myself: It does sort of draw the eye downward, doesn't it?
I: Well at least that takes the focus off of our knee bulges.
Me: Those are hereditary!
I: Hereditarily FAT.
Me: I'm really more concerned about our saddlebags.
Myself: We were just born curvy.
I (incredulously): Those aren't saddlebags, those are freaking foot lockers. You could store rations for an entire platoon in those things.
Me: Well...at least our stomach doesn't look too bad...considering.
Myself: Noooooo, but it could use a little toning.
I: Ladies...navels are not supposed to be FLUTED.
Me: It's not FLUTED! It's just a little...tired.
Myself: Girls, girls, it looks fine. At least it's still an innie, that's something, right?
I: Sure, if you think that makes up for the fact that it's three inches lower than it used to be.
Me: Well, it doesn't matter, nobody sees it anyway. And hey...the girls still look pretty good for our age.
Myself: Yes, they really do.
I: You two do realize that headlights are supposed to point straight ahead, don't you?
Me: Well they do...mostly.
Myself: Except when we sit down.
I: Or stand up. Or bend over. When the headlights on the car point different directions like that Husband takes it in for an adjustment.
Me: You think we need an adjustment?
Myself: Like surgery?
I: No, certainly not. We're perfectly okay with wall-eyed nips, right?
Me: Well, we do prefer to age gracefully.
Myself: Right. We believe in women looking like real women.
I: Real women with fluted navels and wall-eyed nips. I'm sure it will be all the rage soon. Hef oughta be calling any minute now.
Me: Why do you always have to be so negati....HOLY FREAKING COW what is that?!?
Myself: It appears to be a whisker.
I: Why are you freaking out? We've been dealing with chin hairs since we turned 30.
Me: Yes, but that one is like FOUR inches long! How could you let us walk around like that??
Myself: It's not really four inches long. Maybe two.
I: Relax...one chin hair does not a beard make.
Me: Where is that damn TWEEZERS?? I swear if Ryker used it to fish legos out of the toilet again I'm going to wring his neck.
Myself: Here it is. Remember? We were plucking our eyebrows in the bathtub.
I: While we're at it, maybe we should do some maintenance on those nose hairs.
Me: Oh geez...not nose hair. Anything but nose hair.
Myself: Well, it's really only one nose hair. That shows.
I: It only shows when someone is looking straight up our nose. Get a grip.
Me: Well....I think we're being entirely too hard on ourself. Husband loves us unconditionally and he still thinks we are beautiful.
Myself: Yes, he does. We are very lucky.
I: Husband is blinded by love.
Me: He is not. He likes real women.
Myself: That's right. He doesn't like skinny plasticized women.
I: Riiiiiiight, he prefers fat kneed women with fluted navels and nipples askew. He's found his ideal woman, then hasn't he?
Me: Well, I guess the only thing left to check out is the caboose.
Myself, I (in unison): NO!
Myself: weeps gently
I: Really, haven't we had enough indignity for one day?
Me: Yes, I suppose so. It's not going anywhere.
I: Ain't that the truth.
Me: See...there you go again being negative.
I: I'm not being negative. I'm being realistic.
Myself (still weeping): ENOUGH!! For the love of GOD enough! Don't you know what you're doing to us!!
Me: I think we need a drink.
Myself: I think we need chocolate.
I: I think we need to get laid.
Me: Veto. That requires getting naked.
Myself: I have to agree. We're demoralized enough right now.
I: Alright, alright. How about a pint of Rocky Road?
Me, Myself: Now you're talking.
I stepped away from the mirror wondering why I see nothing but imperfection when confronted by my reflection. I am confident in my worth as a thinker, a writer, a problem solver, a manager and a mother (for the most part). Why then do I judge my physical self so harshly? Why do I hold myself to an impossible standard? Why do I care so much? And then I thought...I am really in no mood for all this introspective bullshit. I'm going to go have some of that ice cream.
And I did.
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