I just bought a brand new digital bathroom scale, so naturally I step on it every time I'm anywhere near the bathroom in order to watch my weight fluctuate. A mammoth salad for lunch? I'm up two pounds! A pleasant ramble with the Yorkie-poo? They've gone! Dinner at my sister's house? They're back! But by tomorrow morning, they'll probably be gone again. Or not.
After I read that a new study had found health benefits from drinking coffee, I sprang from the table and brewed myself a cup of strong Yemeni espresso. I had downed almost the entire contents when the radio news came on. The broadcaster announced that a recent health study had discovered that if you drank too much coffee, it could kill you.
Regardless of if and when I lose the weight, these pink tattoos from that year will never go away. Even if I become a ripped, svelte version of myself, the permanent marks of the toughest period of transition in my life will remain a constant reminder of the insecure and desperate-for-fulfillment girl that got me the marks in the first place.