On one of my recent trips to the ladies room (I take about 37 per day-I find it's an excellent way to waste time), I stopped for my habitual glance in the mirror. Usually it's a very enjoyable experience for everyone involved. I know there are women out there who suffer from body image issues and like to pick apart every inch of their bodies... I'm not one of these women. I'm more of the check-yourself-out-in-anything-that-has-a-reflection kind of gal.
So you can imagine the horror I felt when I didn't see Gisele Bündchen staring back at me yesterday. Some sort of tired lesbian nun had taken her place and I was none-too-pleased with this discovery. After a closer look I realized it was even worse that I thought. My blue dress had pit stains, I'm pretty sure I forgot deodorant under my left arm, I had a piece of my breakfast bar on my lip, and I had black makeup under and above my eyelid. I didn't even know that was possible. Also, I have about a dime-sized section of my cheek that's breaking out. It's so weird. Why just that tiny section? And why my cheek? Did I fall asleep on a piece of cheese? I had pulled my hair into a bun on top of my head, and my bangs were greasy. My normally light-blond hair was now some sort of poop brown color (noo I didn't shower that morning.... I was way too tired for that shit). Who had I become? It was like an entirely different person staring back at me. I've decided to name this person Helen. No one wants to hang out with someone named Helen. She has cats and hasn't had intercourse with anyone other than her cabbage patch doll.
I took a good long look at Helen and was like "GURL it's time for an intervention." That's right. I had an intervention for myself right then and there in the bathroom. Thank God. It worked too. I know this for three reasons: A- I showered this morning (applause anyone?), B- Both pits are rocking deodorant, and C-I caught myself looking at my reflection on my metal coffee mug this morning. Don't fret, people. All is well with the world again. Call me.
