At the Youngest Daughter’s birthday party a few weeks ago, Mom brought her new camera. It’s like an old-school Polaroid, but new and stylish, producing pictures that are wallet-sized. It’s super-cool and makes all the grandchildren think Mimi’s magical.
As I was cleaning up, I came across a photo of Laney at the party. She’s in her Peppa the Pig shirt and tutu, striking a Vogue pose. Precious. And there it was, in the background … a hulking beast with hair and chins, in a shirt it must have thought was slimming but – oh God – was it wrong.
It was me.
I couldn’t stop staring. I heard Rosie O’Donnell talk once about how she never sees what everyone else sees when she looks in the mirror. I have that. It’s like a reverse body dysmorphia. I think I look way better than I really do.
Oh God, that photo.
Chins with chins.
Crazy hair, not lustrous and shiny.
Slimming shirt? Maybe if the pattern was straight and not gaping, with buttons screaming for relief.
So, you know what I did? I slapped that bad boy on my fridge. A constant reminder that this photo will only be taken ONCE.
Forget “skinny photos” as motivators. Get the biggest, ugliest photo of yourself you can find – the one you want to burn, but you can’t, because something precious is in it. The one you hide. Get that bomb out, and stick it to your fridge, pantry, workout equipment. Hell, go to Kinko’s and wallpaper with it.
The next photo WILL be better.