Here’s some insight into my dysfunctional mind:
I used to be somewhat attractive. I don’t say this to brag about myself, because well, if I were bragging I’d use a more exciting way of describing it than “somewhat attractive”. I say this to explain that my mind and the way I react to things hasn’t quite caught up with my deteriorating physical appearance. I was driving home from work today and sitting at a stoplight near my apartment. I was sitting in my disgustingly old car amid the piles of hoarder-stash I keep in there for some reason (not psychological reasons, put the phone down) and trying to figure out where to place the seat belt, as is usually my “in the car” practice. I can never tell if it’ll be more comfortable to put the belt under, above or right smack in the middle of my squishy and protruding tummy. You tell me if you’ve figured it out. I was also having some issues up top but those are “busty girl problems” and I’ve had those for a while. Anyway, I was making a delightful face while adjusting something below the belt (literally) and I looked out the window and happened to see a jogger go by.
She was tall, thin, presumably pretty (she went by sort of fast so I couldn’t tell if she had acne scars or buck teeth or anything) and rocking a pair of skintight spandex leggings. I realize I always say that leggings are not pants but I give a pass to runners. Mostly because if they heard me make fun and tried to chase me, I’d likely just sit down and cry instead of run away. Back to the point. She was MILES ahead of me in the hot race (and any legitimate race, I’m sure) but that didn’t stop me and my super gross self in my super gross car from mentally judging her immediately.
Don’t shake your head and try to telepathically tell me that I’m not gross. I am always at least a little gross. Today I happen to be a lot gross because I slept on wet hair and went to work with it in the same shape as my pillow. I am not wearing any makeup and ever since I started “doing my eyebrows” I haven’t felt the need to pluck them, which looks ridiculous when I go au natural.
So this girl. She’s jogging down the sidewalk, trying to maintain a healthy lifestyle and clearly doing a great job. She’s running, she’s beautiful, but what is my first thought? Is it, “Hey girl, good for you! Way to keep that heart rate up!”? No. Me and my lumpy self zone in on her cheeks that are sort of flapping in the wind. They’re not jiggling. They’re like…doing the wave. You know those super-charged hand dryers in public bathrooms? Of course you do. If you haven’t been amused by one in your lifetime you’re a dirty liar. They create ripples in your hand or arm (or face…don’t judge me) and it looks hilarious. That is what was happening with this girl’s face. It wasn’t particularly windy and she certainly wasn’t sprinting like an African olympian but she was obviously running at such a velocity that her cheeks were doing the wave. So I have no idea what was going on, but it was enough of a something to make me not hate her and allow my delusionally chunky self to laugh at her. I’m rude. All I can say is that I must have transitioned so quickly (not really) from someone who was cute and fashionable to someone who Hulk-rips the arms out of shirts just because I talked myself into being able to shop at Forever 21, that my mind hasn’t fully realized the change yet.
I’m way too judgey for a chunker but I’m hoping it reads more “niche-funny” than sad and pathetic. Don’t tell me which one it is, because I’d prefer to live in my judgey mind than a deep depression.