I
look back at the thirty-year-old girl in the mirror. The facade is simply gorgeous. She’s had a team of people working on her for over three
hours.
The
real girl has on something called Lipo in a Box that’s supposed to take ten
pounds off of your figure, lift your butt, and flatten your stomach. I can
barely breathe. My face feels like I have pancake batter smeared on it. My
“natural” looking hair has been hair sprayed within an inch of its life. The
only thing about me that’s real is my necklace, which I refused to take off,
even after the stylist threw a fit, and my rings. The diamond earrings weren’t
an issue, because, well, they’re so big that they look fake.
My
stomach is in complete knots. I haven’t been able to eat, because I’m afraid
that I’ll be sick. This is the first time that Colin and I’ve attended a public
event together since the interview with Allison Katz aired. We’ll be expected
to pose on the red carpet for the photographers to catch us from every angle.
I’ve also been told that the dress designer expects me to pose by myself. That
sounds terrifying.
Blogs
and websites have developed a rather sick fascination with us as a couple. One
was kind enough to post a picture of Colin and me from college. It must have
been taken after his last game during his senior year. His long arm was wrapped
around me, tucking me into his side. He’s a sweaty, hot, beautiful mess. He was
still in his A&M uniform. I think the game had just ended. His pads made
him look even larger than he actually was. I look like a child compared to him.
My caramel-colored hair was blowing in the wind, and I was looking up at him
adoringly. It’s a ridiculously cute picture. In fact, I would frame it, if I
could get a high enough resolution copy of it.
It was before I got really sick. My eyes were
still bright and shiny, and I looked so happy. Healthy. I was in love with the
man whose side I was pressed against. I was never going to leave him. I never
saw a future without Colin in it.
Little
did I know that, just over a year later, I would tell him goodbye for what I
thought was my new forever.
Next
to that picture was a photo taken of Colin and me, leaving a restaurant in New
York. He’d finished up shooting his last underwear campaign ever, and we were
celebrating. Colin had on a suit that was tailored perfectly to him. His light
blue dress shirt and grey tie made his eyes translucent green. We’d been
forty-five minutes late for our dinner reservation because I couldn’t keep my
hands off of him. It was the night that I’d given him his engagement ring.
I’d
left the photo shoot earlier in the day, because seeing him sitting there in
nothing but a pair of white underwear was maddening. But then, when the
director had him dropping back, as if he was going to throw a pass in nothing
but his tighty whities, I thought that I would lose my mind. That beautiful man
was mine. Mine alone. He’d given all
of that up so I would be the only girl to see him that way.
I’d
channeled my sexual frustration into a great day of shopping. In fact, I’d
purchased the dress that I had on in the picture. I could have sworn that it
looked great on me. I even took a picture of me in it, and sent it to Brad for
his approval before I bought it.
However,
when I saw me in the dress next to Colin, I agreed with the reporter’s
statement. “Colin McKinney has only gotten hotter with age, but what’s happened
to Charlie? Time has not been kind to her. They say that love is blind.”
Ouch!
Seeing
the pictures side by side, I can really tell that I’ve aged. I’m probably
fifteen pounds heavier than I was in college. My face is definitely fuller. My
arms look fat. Seriously? How did I get fat arms? I didn’t even think that was
possible. Apparently, I need to add weight training to my exercise routine.
Don’t
get me wrong. I know logically that I’m not overweight, but I look thirty in
the picture, and Colin looks like an ageless god.
Then,
because I can’t stop myself, I read the comments section. The first one said,
“Maybe he’s gay, and she wares a strap-on for him.”
Okay.
That’s just dumb. I disregard the comment, because that person is clearly an
idiot. “It’s ‘wears’ not ‘wares,’” I said to the screen. As if the person could
hear me.
I
read the next one. “I never understood what he saw in her. She was ugly in
college.”
I
can objectively look in the mirror and know that I wasn’t ugly then, and I’m
not unattractive now. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
The
next comment actually took my breath away. “Maybe a good run at anorexia would
do Charlie some good.” That comment hit me right where it hurts.
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