Okay, so I’m expecting a guest tomorrow. As always, the thought of actually being seen by someone causes me to realize I have instantaneously gained 1000 lbs, my hair looks like an elderly racoon has perished on my head, I have a chin hair that has grown to ZZTop lengths, and, oddly, I am forming teenage zits on my face. My eyes are hollowed, dark and yellowed. My teeth need straightening.

I scrounge through my wardrobe, trying to find a selection of clothing I can gaily toss on that will make me look sexy, funny, charming, attractive, and mind-bogglingly intelligent.

There are no such clothes.

I’m not exaggerating. I had to upgrade to Skype 5.5 for some upcoming negotiations and they asked me if I wanted to take my picture, so I tried. Five times. I looked like a combination of the wrath of God and the wreck of the Hesperus, two expressions my mother used interchangeably, from which I can only conclude that the Hesperus somehow annoyed God. I still puzzle about how that can be applied to a person – at least I did until last night, when I saw it personified.

I think I will resort to a photo of Kermit the Frog, or perhaps more appropriately, Miss Piggy, for the photo.

So today I get up and decide to wrangle myself into shape. I will go to the gym, I mutter, and instantly I will look better. Yeah, I know, but sometimes I have to lie to myself to get to the gym. So I put myself into my new Sports Bra, which coddles my chest and the bumps thereon like a firm embrace. It pulls my shoulders back, arcs around my shoulder blades.

Instantly, I feel like Xena, Warrior Princess. I can almost hear the swishing of my head as I turn it, suddenly powerful. I take the dog out for his rounds and I am striding forward, warrior-like, balanced and ready for battle. I am suddenly stronger, more capable, yes, all those things I wished for in my first paragraph. My arms move freely, unlike in my regular undergarments. I am armed and ready, as it were. Where DID I put those throwing discs?

Well, as long as I don’t look in the mirror, where I can see clearly my feminine bumps are compressed into a single, gentle curve down toward my belly. And they are both the same size, belly and boob.

That’s okay. If anyone says anything, I’ll just let out a warrior yell and whip my head about until the swishing noises confuse them.