Perception is a funny thing (and by funny, I mean evil and wrong). For instance, yesterday, I thought I was doing a gangbuster kind of workout. I pictured myself on the elliptical machine making magic happen. I pictured myself being athletic, svelte, prepossessing, or sweaty-chic.
Then I looked in the mirror.
I’m fairly sure your ass is not supposed to move that way. Seriously, the cellulite undulation was making me seasick. Like any rational person, it just inspired me to work out more.
Oh, wait… no.
It inspired me to stop every activity that could elicit jiggling of any kind. Because really… no one should see that, not even me.
A friend of mine told me a story about a recent trip to Blockbuster. She noticed several people looking at her. She knew she looked good. She was having a “that girl” moment (you know, the fantasy where people are looking at you and whispering “who’s that girl…over there… that charming creature”). At least, that was her perception.
Then she caught her reflection in the window.
Note to self, when you get your brows waxed make sure that all the wax and the bright red marks, from where the technician ripped off your skin, have faded before renting ‘I Want to Believe” at your local video store.
Every day I get up at 5 am for work. Yea. I suppose I could blame the darkness for the ensembles I put together, but that would be a lie. I think I look good when I leave my apartment. I mean, no one is going to mistake me for Gillian Anderson, but people won’t hide their children from me to avoid the horror.
So, why is it that the look that works so well at home before I leave is suddenly ill-fitting and somewhat south of chic when I see my reflection at work?
Perception is deeply misleading.
Then again, maybe reality is really the problem.
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