No One Is Thinking About You
“It is a truth universally acknowledged that when one part of your life starts going okay, another falls spectacularly to pieces.”
― Helen Fielding, Bridget Jones’s Diary
I have more issues than tissues. The pink kind with the lotion, my nose is sensitive, yes, that many tissues.
Here’s the thing about that though, we all do. I call my sister the other day, we talk less and less so I’m blaringly loud on this particular call because I think of it like this, if we have both somehow made time for each other in our super-busy lives in which we already don’t share with each other, it is usually cause for celebration. I miss her.
Cheers me up as much as it lets me down. She lives on the East coast, Virgina — Glen Allen, to be exact, and I don’t ever visit.
She’s a curly haired hairdresser, milk choc skin, big wide (for lack of better description) Colgate smile. As we’re Facetiming (is that a term now?) she wants to see me, and like, really, ‘look’ at me. I am finessing the vid/cam and within seconds she is now standing back showing off her wedges — her boots, which ones she wants me to answer. As if for approval.
She thinks my opinion is golden since I’ve worked in the fashion industry 80% of my life (from dressing mannequins, producing websites, copywriting) when in truth, I am in no shape (emotionally) to tell her what “looks” better. I’m an f’in mess.
“No, no the wedges!!!” I scream-laugh with her although, I want to cry.
I’m an emotional eater, so I feel like I’ve gained 8 pounds in the last 2 days and my trainer and I are at odds on this day, I’ve had to reschedule. 2nd time this week. A few setbacks, what’s the saying? 2 steps forward, 9 steps back? I’ve been known to wear Ugg boots, live in Lululemon high waist pants and stroll around town in a strappy bra. This is the pitiful girl outfit. Woe is I.
“Noooo, you’re wearing a romper, open-toe wedges with rompers, save the lace-up boots for the other ‘fit!” I scream again at her.
She’s fluffing at her midsection area and then she pulls her husband in the camera — only to humiliate him, grabbing at his shirt to show me he’s gained more than a bit.
“Nope! Not a wrinkle you lookin’ goood brothhhhhhherrrrr!” We overemphasize ‘brother and sister,’ it’s pretty funny.
I can tell he’s noticeably embarrassed, and yet she’s still fluffing at her own outfit and hair. I stare at her in the cam and notice, the only thing that’s changed about her is her moles, she has larger beauty marks, and they now stand out about her a bit more. Her hair looks shorter too, but it’s still pinned up. She's still as beautiful as she was the last time I saw her.
The conversation ends, but, the interaction stays. The only way to get out of my on head, is to focus on others. The only way to feel better, is to do something about it. Everyone is insecure about something. We are not perfect. We are flawed.
Isn’t that what makes us beautiful? Isn’t that what makes us real?
No one is thinking about you. They’re thinking about themselves, just like you. — Helen Fielding, Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination
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