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I am not a celebrity. But I will still give you an autograph.

Girls – you know you have done it. Compared yourself to a celebrity. But when they are just a printed picture in a magazine or dancing across your Netflix feed, it is easy to hide behind the statement “They don’t really look like that. That is obviously photoshopped, or just some great movie magic” as you eat your second bag of microwave popcorn.

I myself have said that a million times, half making myself feel better about my non-celeb appearance and clearance rack Old Navy wardrobe.

But then, yesterday, I met a celebrity. A real live one. A friend of a friend. And I can honestly say she was far prettier and more lovely and classy and perfect looking than any magazine has ever made her look. As I shook her hand and chit chatted with her, I couldn’t help but look down and my cut-off jean shorts, flip flops and baggy gray tank top and feel…disgusting.

So you know what I did? I went and got Taco Bell. I mean, what else is there to do at a time of such extremely prominent feelings of inadequacy but to stuff your face with a bean burrito? Then, I went home and laid on my messy bed in my tiny apartment and pouted. I pouted because my hair was frizzy and my stomach too poofy. (yes, I realize Taco Bell doesn’t help this problem, thanks.) I pouted because my clothes were not classy and only in varying shades of black like said celebrity. I pouted because her makeup was just so….perfect. And mine is mostly Wet and Wild and $2 or less. I pouted because I had freckles and crooked teeth and a weak chin that is only good for making Jabba the Hut faces in photos. I laid there and felt sorry for myself.

And then, I said a quick prayer (so needed) slapped myself across the face (figuratively) and came back to my senses. For goodness sake – my apartment is beautiful (enough). My marriage is full of joy and laughter. I love my job. And yes, my belly is a little rounder than I would like, but that is because I drink and laugh and dine with friends too much – and there is nothing wrong with that! (Kinda.)

When I was so focused on this girl and what she had, I couldn’t see all I had, and that is a gross habit to get into.

So, I picked myself up, poured my husband and I a whisky, and went for a walk to look at my neighborhood pet pig (a real thing y'all). I went and laughed with friends, cleaned my house, and watched X-Files episodes with my man until we fell asleep on the couch with our pets watching over us like little furry pervs. I may not be a celebrity, and I still have a good three years or so before I am stinking rich and can afford all black clothing and expensive makeup, but until then, I am not going to fixate on all I don’t have, but remind myself to be grateful for what I do.

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