I recently had an ugly day. You ladies probably know what I mean.
Most of the time, I feel okay about my appearance. I don’t stop traffic with my beauty, but I also don’t get mistaken for a horror movie villain. I’m in the acceptable range, and I think that God made me reasonably attractive with some pretty features.
But now and then, I have a day where I feel like Cinderella’s stepsisters were Helen of Troy compared to me.
Why did this happen? I went shopping.
Taking ten outfits into the dressing room, I presumed that at least one would flatter my figure. Nope. So on to another store, and the same presumption. Nope. And to another store . . . and another . . . . A couple of hours later, I concluded that I have no figure.
Despite the fact that the scale says I weigh in the a-okay range, I can assure you that it is not distributed the way it once was. It was tempting to lie back on the dressing room floor, do 100 crunches, and try those jeans on one more time. It was tempting to suck in with all of my breath and never exhale again. It was tempting to purchase all of the “shapewear” in the store and wear it all at once to get everything back where it belongs.
I cursed childbirth for the shifting of fat and the elasticity of my skin. I cursed fast food for being so available and convenient at every corner. I cursed Coca-Cola for tasting like ambrosia, that nectar of the gods. I cursed my busy schedule for not allowing me to exercise two hours per day and still have a clean house, tasks completed, and family cared for. I cursed the fashion industry for tissue-thin shirts and low rise pants that highlight the muffin tops of older women. I cursed young women for not having muffin tops.
I felt U-G-L-Y.
So I came home and ate an ice-cream sandwich. (Don’t judge me, or I might eat another.)
That night, when I told my husband how I felt, he dismissed my conclusions. I’m not ugly to him. Not at all. He was rather eager to find my muffin top and feel his way around from there. He said that neither one of us has the taut tummy we used to have. He said that I’m still hot to him . . . as in, smokin’.
I am lucky to have a husband who likes my body just fine. I understand that not all wives have that lovely circumstance.
However, I bet if most of you wives had an experience like I did, where you stood there hand on hip, tears in eyes, and choke in throat declaring how U-G-L-Y you are, your hubbies would stare at you in disbelief. What do you take him for? He wouldn’t marry ugly! He’s got good taste, you know.
In fact, my own husband has such good taste that he asked me to bring him an ice cream sandwich too.
A couple of days later, feeling better about myself, I went shopping again. Score! A great pair of jeans (with a little stretchy fabric) and a nice button-down shirt were waiting for me. I took a couple of turns in front of the dressing room mirror and thought, Not too bad. Not amazing, but not bad.
It turns out that God does a pretty good job with His handiwork. I’m not 20 anymore. I will never bounce dimes on my abdomen again (did I ever?). I could be a little more fit (which I’m working on), but if God and my husband think I’m okay, who am I to argue?
Do you feel bad about your appearance at times? How do you snap out of it? How does your spouse help (or not help) on those Ugly Days that get you down?