Like most women with low self-esteem, I spend a lot of time comparing myself to Hollywood actresses, reality TV stars and fashion models. Judging myself against beautiful, skinny celebrities wouldn’t be so bad if I approached it in a rational manner. Instead, I choose to overlook several important truths:
- Most celebs don’t have to work 40 hours a week, 50-plus weeks every year.
- A lot of them have jobs that require them to be in great physical shape, and as a result, they have an hour or two carved out in their schedule each day for exercise … usually with a personal trainer.
- They have access to beauty-enhancing tools and surgeries I could never afford.
- They have personal chefs, who can cook all kinds of healthy, low-fat food.
- They have hairstylists and makeup artists at the ready.
- Even with all those advantages, they still have their pictures digitally altered and wear undergarments like Spanx to look thinner and blemish-free.
So, yes, I have a love affair with a beauty standard that is basically fraudulent. But that’s not the main reason why my feelings of inadequacy are at an all-time high. A year ago, some big news broke, and it caused me to face a startling possibility: What if I’m as unattractive as Arnold Schwarzenegger’s mistress?
Don’t get me wrong. I’m sure Mildred Patricia Baena is a lovely person (on the inside) and perhaps she was breathtakingly beautiful back in the day before she got pregnant with Arnold’s love child. But let’s be honest. Maria Shriver is WAY more attractive — hell, even her name is more attractive: Who wants to f*ck someone named Mildred?
The first time I saw a picture of Ms. Baena, I thought: “Arnold cheated on Maria with THAT?!” and then about 20 seconds later I thought: “Wait a minute … what if I’m ‘THAT,’ too?!”
It’s a common belief that men cheat simply because their mistresses do certain things in bed that the wife won’t do. Or that men will overlook women’s physical shortcomings for a blowjob a cheap thrill. (But Maria has Kennedy blood, so there’s no way she’s isn’t a semi-Super Freak, right?)
My greatest mistress fear used to be that our affair would become public knowledge. But thanks to Mr. Terminator’s horrible taste in homewreckers, my fear has morphed into: our affair becoming public knowledge and The Husband’s wife, friends and family forming a circle around him and chanting:
“U-G-L-Y … Your whore ain’t got no alibi. She ugly … What, what … She ugly!”
There’s a good chance I am “a Mildred” because honestly, I don’t measure up to the stereotypical mistress. I’m 20 10 pounds overweight, I rarely wear sexy outfits, I can’t do the splits and I’ve never slid down a stripper’s pole.
I thought this whole mistressing thing would inspire me to work out consistently and maintain a nice figure. But pretty much since my last encounter with The Husband in February, I’ve had no desire to work out. Zip, zero, zilch. I just want to eat bad food, sit on my a$$ and live La Vida Lazy.
This could be some subconscious ploy to repulse The Husband by “letting my looks go.” But mostly I think it’s the result of being semi-depressed about a lot of things — my stressful, dissatisfying job and my lack of a dating/social life, to name a few — and not being in the mood to go through the rigors of getting back into shape.
Arnold’s affair stayed hidden for damn near 20 years. So hopefully that means I’ll have awhile to get back into some sort of fitness groove or, at the very least, save up for cosmetic surgery — before I have to face judgment day.
Ms. Tress 