Last week I was looking at a picture of myself, and I just plum forgot to think something nasty about my nose. For 35 years I’ve cringed every time I saw my nose in the mirror. Or in a picture. Or reflecting on the backside of a spoon. Perhaps I should say, taking up the entire backside of a soup ladle-sized serving spoon.
I didn’t realize the oversight immediately. But later at the grocery store, as I was leaning into a pit of avocados to find a perfectly ripe specimen for dinner, I realized what a monumental occurrence had taken place earlier in the day.
Of course, I immediately forgot about the avocado and raced home to see whether I could make the same trick work if I looked at a picture of myself in a bikini. At the time this seemed like a crucial test. Was I turning over a new leaf of self-acceptance? Maybe even self-love? (And y’all, I didn’t even have to pay a shrink for it.)
But it’s a long drive from the grocery store to my house, and so at dinner, when my family was eating tortilla chips with my guacamole mix that looked an awful lot like plain ol’ pico de gallo, I started to wonder what I was missing. Then it hit me like a fruit truck: the avocado! And what happened to that resolution to take a positive attitude toward a bikini picture?
To ensure that, um, our most important memories are, um, safe, I keep all pictures of myself in a bathing suit tucked inside a shoebox that’s kept in the barn. Behind a couple of empty oil drums and under an assortment of cobwebs. Those pictures are so safe that with any luck, I’ll be the only person who ever lays eyes on them again. I excused myself from the table and headed for the door.
As I was sliding on shoes, Andrew looked up from his lackluster dip on a chip and asked if I was going for a walk.
I looked out the window and saw that it had grown rather dark, and I do always find the great outdoors more welcoming when there is light, when a girl can see all the critters that might be slithering up to say hello. As the word “slither” flashed across my mental screen, I lost motivation for … well … whatever my task had been.
I headed for our bedroom where I could put my feet up, and when I entered, I was immediately struck by a huge set of mounted elk horns on our bedroom wall.
“Since when do we sleep in a trophy room?” I asked.
Unfortunately, I soon discovered they aren’t horns, they’re antlers, and I guess they’ve been there for, like, a year or something. Whatever.
I couldn’t relax in our bedroom sitting area without staring at the antlers. I’ve heard of people who do their best thinking while standing up, and there’s no reason I couldn’t become a person like that. Once upon a time I read a motivational quote that said you could be anything you wanted to be. Or was it a kindergarten teacher who embedded such wisdom? Regardless, I decided to stand and think through the important thought I had retreated to the bedroom to ponder … which was … something crucial. I’m sure of it.
People say you become forgetful when you are pregnant, but for the life of me, I can’t figure out why they would say such a thing. I happen to be blissful when I’m pregnant. Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve got the perfect nose, I look great in a bikini, and I make amazing choices in home decorating. Don’t most people believe those are the only things stay-at-home moms care about?
Now. If only I could only find the soup-ladle-sized serving spoon that goes in this Nutella.