I'm aware my bah'um doesn't look like hers

There are some mornings when I wake up convinced my lower half looks like Jessica Biel's. I have about 6 mirrors in my studio apartment, 1 of which is about 8 feet tall, 4 feet wide, and greets me at my front door. As inanimate as it is, that mirror is partly to blame for my bloated ego. Tipped back ever so slightly, it elongates my frame just enough to make me think I'm 5"9 (I'm 5"7) and 120 lbs (I'm not that). Some days I remember not to believe what I see, and some days I don't. When it comes down to it, though, I know even on my best day, Jessica's glorious bottom extends out at least an inch farther than mine. Maybe an inch and a half. I find solace in the small things -- that I'd have chosen a less taupe-colored shoe, for example. But my point is, some mornings I feel that I do look Jessica Biel good. If I've worked out for a few consecutive days, kept to my healthy diet of veggie burgers, fruit roll-ups and frosting, and not had more than say, 4 beers that week, I'm ready to walk into Smith Point and steal some preppy blonde thunder. Today, however, is not one of those days. Yesterday wasn't, and I'm pretty sure tomorrow won't be, either. Normally, I would stress over such an acute drop in confidence, but in this case, there is no mystery as to what's causing it. In this case, the culprit is simply being at home. Grateful as I am to live in close proximity to four stocked refrigerators, a drawer filled with 12 bags (I counted) of baked cheddar Chex Mix, and as far as I can tell, a smiling Santa candy dish on every available surface, the excess is literally killing my ass. The collusion between gravity and laziness has caused at least an inch drop in my pigu since I arrived on Thursday. That puts Jessica a good 2 inches ahead of me. Whatever, she's just a stupid Hollywood bitch, anyway. Bet she only reads the Leaders in the Economist.

When people ask me (and they don't) what I think my biggest asset is, I do a quick mental shuffle among my many favorites but always come up with the same answer: my awareness. Awareness applies to most everything in life. Be aware of the company you're in when you see a fat person tip over on a Segway and you can't stop tittering. Be aware of your audience when you put on the new leggings, cashmere minidress, and almond-toed stiletto boots you got from shopbop.com after your bonus check cleared. Be aware of how annoying it is to other people when you say things like, "I only worked out for an hour yesterday -- should I skip lunch?" Not everyone thinks fat is funny, not everyone reads Marie Claire's style guide, and not everyone's life goal is to look Biel-tastic in a black crocheted Alessandro Dell'Acqua sweater dress.

In short, not everyone is me.