Now, if we’re talkin’ body, I’ve got an imperfect one. Still, so far on this voyage down the scale, I’ve noticed a few changes in certain parts of it. I can see the bones in my hands now. I don’t have to contort myself to hit THE angle that hides my face fat in pictures. My arms are slimming down. My back — yes, my back, of all things — is getting super toned. (And yes, I check this in mirrors.) And I can’t really see it, but something is happening in the waist/hips area, because my underwear sag and my pants hang or fall off altogether. But the most satisfying, captivating, exciting change so far? My clavicles are back.
Yeah, that sounds super crazy, but there it is. I am so excited to see the presence of bones between my shoulders, you’d think I’d just been told I’d be paid to sit around and breathe. It gets even weirder, too: I keep catching myself touching them. It doesn’t matter if I’m completely alone or in the middle of a conversation with another person who can see me, I am CONSTANTLY running my fingers over my clavicles. They’ve basically become my villain beard. “Hmm…” she thought, stroking her newly prominent bones, “if I stop doing this with one of my hands, how long will it take me to blog about the fact that I do this now?” **evil laugh**
Appropriately, the third person has officially noticed and said something to me this morning (probably mid-clavicle rub). It was a co-worker of mine. She kind of stood in the doorway of my office, seeming a little hesitant, and then finally blurted out, “Have you lost weight?” And I said, “Yes.” She followed up with, “Like… 40 pounds?” I smiled, probably touched my clavicles, and said, “Maybe a little more.”
Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta.