Inventory, Part 1

A few days ago I was walking through a Home Depot with Sandy, when my cell phone started to buzz. Raj. I let Sandy take the call, and after the obligatory hellos and how are yous, I heard him say into the phone, “I’m great. I’m walking through the store with the sexiest girl in the world.”

Thanks, gorgeous. But, I don’t feel like that just yet. It’s inventory time.

I was planning, with all good intention, to take care of the inventory deal on the first day of every month from here on in. The first of the month is known as pay the piper day: rent, mortgage, insurance, bills, yadda yadda, so why not make it a, “pay the everything” day?

Thus, from now on, when I pay my mortgage and Mastercard is the day I also pay my vanity and health dues. Right. Moving along, then.

After I made that decision I realized that we’re already a week into February, and guilt got the better of me. I really shouldn’t be waiting for tomorrow, so I took a few spare moments, locked myself in the bathroom, and stripped down.

A girl’s reflection can be her worst nightmare. We live in modern times, after all, and there are no mirror genies glorifying our very existence, reassuring us that we are indeed the fairest of them all.

Sucky. Then again, no mirror genies also mean we’re not evil queens hell bent on killing our teenage stepdaughters with poisoned apples.

I find myself avoiding mirrors all the time. When I look bad, when I think I look bad, when I look good but think other parts of me look bad, etc. Worst of all are those circular mirrors in convenience stores, up in ceiling corners to easily spot theft. No one ever looks good in those.

Anyhow, I digress. Time for the gritty, but not before the rules:

1) Look at your reflection. Really look.
2) Be constructive.

Bad everything doesn’t exist. Be aware of that.

Alright, I’m buck naked in front of my mirror, again, and staring at myself, again. Overall I’m finding that I have two conclusions, and they are the same as last time: I’ve improved. That's the goods news. I've improved Qquite wonderfully in fact, and that makes me glad. Not so good news is, there’s room for a lot more.

Last time I started from bottom to top. Why give up a good thing?

At the very bottom are my feet. Oh, my feet. Poor, awkward feet. Looking at you makes me sad, and then ask the high heavens above, Why, oh why, was I born with duck feet? I know they’re so big because I’m vertically gifted, and I’m totally fine being the same height as Christy Turlington. But why are they so awkward that I can’t ever wear the same stylish shoes as Christy Turlington? Sigh.

My feet are looking a little sad these days. It’s been months since they’ve been pedicured or even looked after properly – seasonal slacking; thank you very much – and while I know I’ve got some of the tools for the job, I’m not exactly a professional.

It’s easier to work on a foundation then to build something from scratch, and the very least my piggies deserve is some happiness, so I booked a pedicure. I actually booked a pedicure while naked. Eww. Well, at least they at the spa will never know.

Traveling north, my ankles, which are now a lovely matching set. They’ve been sprain-free for 16 months and counting, sweet relief, so my bone structure down there is back to normal. They still swell when it rains, though. My knees and ankles have become seniors before the rest of me.

My calves, strong as always. Thanks, Dad. Again, they’ll be fantastic when I reach the ideal me, minimal exercise required.

There go my knees with their scars and cracking tendencies (oh, the sprains), and we get to my thighs. Sighs, thighs. Definitely what you’d call a problem area. Smaller than last year, thank goodness, but not significantly so. At least not significantly to the standards I’d like. So, old pointers remain: target exercises, cleaner foods, loofah and maybe a firming cream.

Do firming creams actually work? I’m not too sure, but if they do, boy, would they be great for my butt. Still the bane of my existence, but happily, just that bit less baneful. Good work, girlfriend. Keep working. Again, target exercises, cleaner foods, loofah and firming creams that might or might not work.

My stomach. Last year it was a spare tire; now it’s just a l’il training wheel. While that makes me very happy, a nice, flat stomach with a line down the happy trail will make me happier. Situps.

My chest. Greta and Chloe, my darling girls, you’re uber fabulous. And that’s not even my opinion (giggle). Sadly though, my bras are looser. Swimmier. The transformation has begun; only one thing to do now. Note to Self: visit Victoria’s Secret. Lacey told me about the Very Sexy bra; maybe that’ll very sexy my girls right back up again, and keep them sexy throughout.

My arms need work, that much is obvious. They’re not bad, just not at their prime. My neck is my neck, and she goes right to my face.

I don’t look as tired as I used to, but when I do, it’s usually from all the running around I’ve been doing lately. That’s a good tired; not stress or depressed tired, like it was before. I’m happy with that.

My features are still the same, thankfully so, and even though I’ll never be crazy about my nose, I think it’ll look nicer on a leaner face, crookedness and all. I also need an eyebrow wax.

My skin isn’t bad. Matches the rest of me, at present: better, but not best. Hone up those eating skills, make a trip to the face mask store, and for shit sakes, woman, moisturize! You’re not 20 anymore.

I’m not 20 anymore. All the more reason to keep going, no?

Finally, my hair. Still my dark crowning glory of long curls, currently with deep red highlights. And there’s one big, big difference from last year: the clip is gone. I wear it loose all the time now.

I started doing this to free myself, and even though I’m not all there yet, I have experienced a freedom of sorts. I’ve let my hair down, and put my chin up. I want to look at the world now.

That in itself is one form of freedom, I think.

I cherish that victory, but it’s not enough to open a bottle of Veuve. Thus, the solution is the same as before: take this knowledge, learn from it, and get to work.

While I’m relieved to get my clothes back on and start to count inventory as being over for the month, I don’t think I should consider myself finished just yet.

I’ve decided to dig a little deeper this time.