It’s been a few months now since my new driver’s license came in the mail. The woman who took the photo was a huge Swedish blonde–not the kind that men want to be with, but the kind that could kick those pansies asses. This is why I didn’t ask her to see the photo. I wanted to be surprised in the same way I was with my previous photo. I was in love with it. Obsessed with it. I showed it to everyone, not caring that I almost put down my actual weight because I was convinced everyone would see the beauty of the photograph and wonder if it was a Glamor Shot.

I did become obsessed with the new license for awhile…in the worst way. In it my hair was dyed a hideous shade of general darker-than-usual and I looked like that lesbian kid on Charlie Brown…the one with the sidekick with the glasses. It might not have been so bad had I just looked like her…but in reality I looked like her after she’d grown up, had 5 kids, gotten punched in the face a few times working the McDonald’s drive-thru and smoked several thousand packs of Misty 100s…well that with a THICK double chin.

Those first few months I showed everyone the photo. I thought if I could laugh about it I’d feel better. In my show and tell period my father got his hands on it and called me, “Fatty Face!” for several months…thank Goodness he’s getting old and forgetful and has since given that up. But he was right. And every server who has the gall to card me (I know it’s just because my damn boyfriend is 35 going on 18…fucking baby face) gets me responding with handing over my license and saying, “Don’t you look at that picture!” As though I was trying to conjure up the same mettle that the Swedish DMV worker had when she boomed, “Next!”

For the past months I have tried to forget that everywhere I go I am within a few feet of that truthful picture. But today I had to pull it out to fill in some paperwork for a new job. I caught the eye of the Fatty Faced monster and held it. I stared. And I realized that I had been avoiding this picture for a long time now. But maybe it’s exactly what I need. I even went to the gym after staring at it. So, instead of the pressure and fight with the scale once a week I am going to pull out the Fatty Face and stare at it. I think it may be more effective in getting to my goal. Next go around I want to go back to the Glamor Shot. Period. And I will start saying, “Here’s my ID! Look at that picture. No really, look at it, bitch! Appreciate.”