Amanda Greever

“I feel pretty, Oh so pretty. I feel pretty and witty and gay. And I pity any girl who isn’t me today.” — Maria, “West Side Story”

It’s taken me 27 years, but I’ve finally turned into one of those women I used to dislike. It can be broken into three parts.

I’ve begun counting calories — seriously.

When I was growing up, I learned, with my family, to enjoy food. We had sit-down dinners every night, something I miss, honestly. And we had good food: Granny and Mom are both great cooks. So food wasn’t the enemy.

Even as I grew older and wasn’t the skinniest girl in class, I still loved food. It wasn’t until senior year of high school that I decided to shed a pound or 10 for prom. It was then I switched to Diet Coke, a change I’ve stuck with for the last 10 years.

When I was in college, I went into the bodybuilder mentality of lifting weights, cardio and eating lots of tuna. No, I wasn’t achieving that type of outcome but was involved with a guy who was, thus I decided it had to be a good plan. Hey, it was a stretch but I was looking for commonalities between us.

After I moved down to Blount County, I stopped worrying so much about my weight. I didn’t want to balloon up but I was more focused on enjoying my new life … and all the perks of being completely on my own. I didn’t even own a scale.

In the last few months, my age and weight finally caught up with me. There are pounds that are not welcome and I realize that the older I get, the harder it will be to make them vacate the premises. Thanks to a friend’s suggestion, I’ve started using a Web site that helps me calculate my goals and calorie intake. It can log my exercise, too. And the best part? It’s free.

I may have become a bit obsessed with the calorie counting, but I’ve got it down to a science. And I do have a cheat day on the weekend to maintain both mental and physical balance. I’m still eating foods I enjoy and love, I’m simply limiting portions and making healthy choices.

And this morning as I stepped on my scale (yes, I have one now), I discovered I had lost four pounds. Being a calorie counter is paying off. And if it results in a healthier me, I can handle being a little obsessed.

I actually bought a flat iron on credit. I’ve watched the infomercial for the InStyler for what seems like months and longed to have my hair look like the models’ on TV. The iron made even the unruliest hair look smooth and shiny. However, it had a price tag that I wasn’t willing to pay: $140ish. Even receiving two for the price of one didn’t sweeten the deal enough for me to grab my phone and dial.

I’ve always had really thick, coarse hair. A guy in middle school even called me “Horse Hair” for a while. Yes, it was painful but I learned to deal with it and wore my hair pulled back more often than not. I finally started letting it down, but I generally kept it short. It was easier to deal with and still managed to look cute, at least part of the time.

But I caved a few weeks ago when the best gal pal mentioned the InStyler to me and noted that we could split the costs since there are two. And it can be paid in monthly installments, rather than one lump sum. It was a move that changed the life of my hair forever.

I was prepared for the product to stink — I’m a sucker when it comes to informercials but realizing I’m a sucker means that I realize advertisements lie. This one didn’t. I’ve had the best hair of my life and actually feel like I should be in a shampoo commercial, flinging my hair over my shoulder while pouting my lips and giving sultry stares into the camera. Hey, it works great in my mirror at home.

But yes, I’ve paid entirely too much for a beauty product. It’s not something I’m proud of — but I like my pretty hair and the only way I’m giving up my InStyler is for it to be pried from my cold, dead hands.

Finally, I’ve started spending more time on my makeup. I’ve always been the natural kind of girl, except when going out or someone else does my make up for me. However, best gal pal and now my mother have told me I need to wear blush. Apparently, I looked dead or something since I’m so pale. When my hair was dyed dark brown, I really did look dead. One friend called me Snow White.

But I digress. My mother actually bought me blush and a blush brush, and so I have started using it. How I got along for 27 years without it, I’ll never know. Note the sarcasm, please. But when you combined the blush with the fabulous hair and the slowly shrinking me, I realized that perhaps I SHOULD spend more time on my appearance, and now I can no longer get ready in a mere 15 minutes.

I’m fairly certain my world is starting to spin sideways as my girly-girl and tomboy poles are flipping around on my priority scale.

Apparently I’m still growing up at 27. I’m seeing that it’s OK to be more than just comfortable, and I’m happy in shaping my outside to show how I feel on the inside.

After all, even Lois Lane looked good getting rescued by Superman.