After work, I went to get my highlights redone. It’s been a little longer than usual (like a week over my usual three months between appointments), but the colorist kept saying I hadn’t been in since September like it was a huge crime and I should be behind bars for letting my disgusting, natural, grayish/brownish/pukish hair peek through the artificial color. I know for a fact I was last there the day before Thanksgiving because the colorist asked me what I was cooking and I laughed out loud. Then she proceeded to tell me how to baste a turkey like I even know what that means.
Anyway, all this to say, while I was at the salon, I saw something frightening in my reflection. A second chin. Now, I’ve noticed my other chin before in pictures from two Christmases ago when I insists I was heavier, even though I weigh more now. But I’ve never seen it in first person. The mirrors here at home don’t have florescent lights, and I try not to look in them too often. I don’t want to become one of those girls, after all. In fact, most of the time I look in the mirror, it’s after lunch at work with my little pocket mirror, when I’m making sure I didn’t leave anything in my teeth.
The other chin caught me off guard. I have no idea how long it’s been there. I have traditionally justified a little fat in the face, as I feel it makes my dimple more pronounced. But cheek fat and neck fat are completely different. People pay to have the first done, and the second undone. I was mortified. When no one was looking, I kept smoothing the skin underneath my chin away with the palm of my hand as if it would miraculously make it disappear.
I got home so depressed about my fat neck that I popped two Double Stuf (I hate how it only has one “F,” but I also honor brands) Oreos. I can’t hop on the treadmill, because then I would have to shower, and I don’t feel that’s right when I just got my hair done. Maybe tomorrow. Or maybe after my birthday I’ll feel more motivated. Or maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and won’t be able to see that second chin without florescent lights, and I’ll live happily in denial once again.