Thigh Masters to Glycolic Facials: The Pursuit Continues

By YourTango

Within 24 hours of getting engaged, a wave of nervousness came over me. The burden of planning a wedding was immediately stressful, because I was anticipating that almost all the planning was going to fall on me. As a result, the nervousness killed my appetite for about the first 3 days of my engagement, and I thought, “Great! Getting the wedding dress diet off to an early start.”

I know I’m not alone here, but after getting engaged I had a mental picture of myself on my wedding day that drastically differed from my current physical state, specifically 20 pounds thinner with flawless skin and Jessica Alba-esque muscle definition.

Losing weight for the wedding is a no-brainer for me. I’m basically always trying to lose weight. I bought the Thigh Master with my babysitting money when I was 11 years old. I watch what I eat. Meaning, I try not to eat junk food, and when I do I feel guilty about it. I workout solely for vanity purposes. Meaning, as soon as the hour-long spin class in which I have come close to vomiting is over, I skip the stretching and head straight to the shower.

So, since this is already my day-to-day routine, why would I abandon it just because I’d gotten engaged? Do some women think, “I’m engaged. Now I definitely don’t need to worry about being back on the dating scene,” and just stop caring? If so, this may be where we learn the difference between women who want to look good for their own sake and women who want to look good for someone else. If anything, I was going to ramp up the weight loss regime Angie Jolie style. Well… not that much, but I got really serious really fast, and I was totally comfortable using my upcoming wedding as a reason to defend reaching for the celery and spritzers at happy hour instead of the buffalo wings and Guinness.

The weight loss ambitions are just the beginning though. I’m a pretty self-critical person, and I still managed to find new aspects of my physical appearance that were once unnoticed, but as a result of my engagement have become unacceptably disgusting. Now I’m fixated on the small bumps on the back of my upper arms. Virtually invisible, detected only by human touch and certainly indistinguishable to my wedding photographer, they are nonetheless facing extermination by force. I just spent $98 at Sephora to arm the arsenal, and this from a girl who is still technically living off her tax return.

Scarily, this is only scratches the surface. I have plans for regular glycolic facials, laser hair removal, and maybe even some minor orthodontia. Child Psychologists and self-esteem gurus beware. This new level of vanity does not have a happy ending where I learn to love me for me. I’ll never stop pursuing an appearance that’s closer to flawless, and I’ll be disappointed if I don’t lose about 15% of my bodyweight by the time I walk down the aisle. In my defense, let me say that I recognize the important distinction between pursuit and obsession, and I am not obsessed.

Just wait, after all this I’ll wake up on my wedding day with a zit.

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