I spent a lot of time looking at myself in the mirror today. I examined my reflection in new and old outfits as I sorted through all my clothes and decided what to give away and what to keep. I found a bag of old clothes I intended to give away after a previous cleaning. I must have forgotten the clothes — all one or two sizes smaller — because I still had the bag. I pulled out my old favorite pair of jeans circa 2004, a cute paisley blouse, and some more items. The jeans were too loose, the blouse fit just fine. I kept some of the clothes in the bag and put the rest in the give away pile. In the end, I filled three bags with new-ish clothes and hung up some old clothes.
Later, I went shopping for jeans that fit and didn’t make me look like a teenage guy sagging his pants. Once again, I stared at my reflection in the mirror trying to notice the changes.
Where is the weight coming off? My legs? My thighs? My butt? My arms? My stomach? My breasts? My face?
All of the above.
My friends and family notice the changes too. Some of the comments are funny (are you doing speed?), some make me feel self-conscious (have you had to buy a new wardrobe yet?), and some confuse me.
A few days ago my tía Martha asked, “¿Estás enamorada?”
“Yeah,” I told her, not quite sure what being in love had to do with weight loss. I heard the same question once before several years ago from my roommate’s mom. Is this a Mexican saying? Does it have something to do with being so smitten or broken-hearted that you can’t eat?
There are some things that don’t change. I went shopping yesterday to search for a dress to wear to MEChA de UCLA’s 40th anniversary dinner. I tried on several dresses at a few different stores, but I came home empty-handed. I still don’t like shopping* (shoes excluded).
* Attributed to a combination of (a) not willing to pay $168 for a dress I’ll wear a few times; (b) my codo, see (a); and (c) selection sucks, especially for short women.