Picture the scene: looking through pictures, smiling and laughing about who did what, oh I didn’t remember so and so was there, when was that, etc. Then awkward silence. Who took that picture of my butt from that angle? Oh my God, do I really look like that from that angle? I can never wear those shorts again.
Today I saw two of those. One was a recent photo on my phone of said derriere taken by my four-year-old, whose angle is just not that flattering. The second was an older photo that suggested my abdomen should be harnessed by one of those slimming corset-type undergarments that are now the rage (again).
I also heard one of those. It’s funny because, as much as I hate finding those kinds of pictures, I can erase the image from my mind more easily than I can erase words. When you’re having a conversation with someone and they say something that shows you to yourself, through their lens, that draws you up short like that terrible picture of your ass it’s harder to forget.
This may not be much of a surprise, but it happened while I was talking to my husband’s ex-wife and she brought up our (newly minted) ex-daughter-in-law. I loved this girl and have talked about my conflict about this break up before. Even though I had some moments where I really wanted to, I have not spoken to her since their break up. But my husband’s ex made a comment tonight about “the next time you talk to her…..” Full stop. Wow, are my thighs full of cottage cheese and don’t my crow’s feet look like craters.
It wasn’t said with malice, just as my four-year-old didn’t take the picture to make me feel like thunder thighs. However, both held up a mirror into which I didn’t care to look.
If there’s one thing the 80s taught me, it’s the importance of looking at yourself in the mirror from the rear. So I guess I better get out the hand mirror or next I’ll be forced to confront some mall bangs and that’s a sin from which few have recovered.