I've Never Felt So Ugly

This morning I found myself sitting in a cosmetic surgeon's office. Don't waste time wondering what horrific part of my anatomy I was there to fix, it was my varicose veins. I recently found out that Mike's insurance will cover the cost and since I really hate wearing long pants everywhere, in July, I thought I would check it out.

Turns out that the only doctors that fix varicose veins on our insurance plan are the cosmetic guys. I sat in the waiting room for what felt like forever, but was probably 10 minutes or less. The television in the waiting room was a running advertisement for all the things they offer, and all the reasons you should have them done. First impressions count. The opinion that matters the most is your own. Real gems like that. I found myself playing with my hair, rearranging my clothes, trying to sit taller. I'm not sure what was going through my head at that moment. I kept looking around for cameras. Like maybe it was an experiment about women's insecurities. I was finally called back so the real fun could start.

First I had to put on a pair of shorts that were paper gown material and at least 3 sizes too big. I instantly felt prettier. Wait a second. No, it was worse. Yeah, I felt worse. Especially because I had just been reminded by their advertizing that I'm not in my twenties any more and my skin is showing it. The exam was fairly painless. What was not painless was the description of what my insurance would cover and what the results would be. And then what I could have done and what that cost would be to me. If I opt for the insurance route, I don't pay a thing, but "those spider veins won't be touched and will continue to look just like they do now." If I opt for total leg makeover, the cost was several hundred dollars, "but it would be just like before I had kids." REALLY!?! Is it really necessary to add those comments? I almost asked what he would do with the rest of me, but I knew I couldn't handle the answer.

Anyway, ugly. I felt super ugly. And old. Plus also out of shape and like I should probably stop eating.

And then I got in the car and remembered that God sees my heart. And that's way harder to fix than my unsightly legs. But He still loves me! And He doesn't care at all about the shape of my legs. And thankfully neither does my husband.

So here's to the insurance option and my bank account not taking a hit for the sake of my vanity.