I was going through my documents that are saved to my computer and found was entitled “Mirror, Mirror.” For some reason I have always been particularly proud of this assignment. I figured I’d share…enjoy.

At 1:15 pm, things are ok. "My hair looks nice today,” I think to myself as I push my bangs to the side. With minutes passing, my hands begin exploring the rest of my body. My fingernails are the first things I notice: my short, fat, fingernails.

Second, those pores, people are going to mistake me for a chain smoker. It looks like I have more pores on my face than your average Massachusetts street. At least if my face was Commonwealth Ave, my cubby cheeks would be a good cushion for the bumpy ride.

On a more positive note, my eyes and mouth must compete to be named the best part of my face. My teeth, pearly white and never before braced in metal are surrounded with lips not to big or too small, but just the right size. My eyes, caked with mascara can rock any pair of sunglasses. And let’s be honest, who can resist a brown eyed girl?

As my eyes inspect the rest of my body it all begins to unfold. My chest, the only thing I ever got straight “A’s” in and a birthmark shaped like the state of Maine, that I’ve grown fond of over the years. As I get to my stomach, I always cringe. I turn to my side and look into the mirror, “If only I was a littler smaller here,” I poke at my lower belly. “If only these love handles were non-existent,” I squeeze my sides. “If only my abs looked more like a six-pack than a keg,” I think. Maybe then I’d be that much closer to perfect.

My legs on the other hand are the complete opposite. Throw a pair of heels on me and call it a night. I love my legs! Long, slender, tan and they’ve always been that way.

After fifteen minutes, time is up. I realize I have just spent probably 13 of those 15 minutes tearing myself down. Why do the dislikes out number the likes? Why am I not completely happy with myself? Is it possible to love yourself inside and out wholly?