Last Friday, while having drinks with GTB and me, Alisa made the mistake of sincerely asking how I’ve been. 45 minutes later, tears in my eyes, she and GTB were talking me off the near-bulimic ledge I’ve been negotiating the past few weeks. <\/p>\n
It’s a long story, and I don’t want to bore you with the details of how disenchanted I am with my love handles right now. Suffice it to say that I have a very realistic idea of what my body looks like when it looks good, and it doesn’t look that way right now. And it’s bumming me out, big time.<\/p>\n
Fast forward a few days, I’m at work catching up on Seattle news when I stumble upon this article<\/a>.<\/p>\n As I read it, I could feel the tingling sensation of panic rising throughout my chest. Could it really be possible that if I think I look pretty bad right now, I might be fooling myself by thinking I look better than I actually do? If the image I see in the mirror is in reality LESS attractive than what is really there, and what I see in the mirror is not all that fabulous, how hideous am I?<\/p>\n Then I had a small but important epiphany: the survey takers mentioned in this article were probably men.<\/p>\n