It’s still the beginning of a new year. Some people want to change themselves from what they were last year. Not really in their heads, not in that way that makes it easier to get on in the world. Like, physically. Like, they want their bodies to look differently. They want there to be less of that body. They want to be less fat or less scrawny. And changing your body can make you feel better. You can feel stronger, more attractive better at life. 

We spend so much time talking about numbers and doing basic arithmetic, adding and subtracting numbers that pop up on a scale and thinking about how terrible those numbers are. We dream about numerical ideals. Magic numbers that would transform our lives in fairy godmother, sparkly, unicorn, rainbow ways. The number of units of measure that we weigh is never really good enough. It’s like some jerk that makes fun of us while were just quietly reading a book. Or doing something fun, like super easy shopping math and looking at sizes. But then something ugly happens. Size numbers join the equation. And oh shit, then more math happens.

And then we do some other calculations that involve taking into account other numbers, like our age, the amount of years we’ve been doing a particular vocation or exercise regime or diet and then the weight numbers get divided and factored in there. And then there are all these new ideal numbers. There are new numeral dreams. And a lot of times, unless there is some stupid time travel, or de-aging ray there is no way to change the numbers that are part of us.

Is this, like, some kind of word problem? You can probably tell by how inaccurate this whole thing is that I have never been good at math. And I don’t really enjoy it. I can merely say the numbers that correspond to me and not do the adding or subtracting. But not doing the math is hard for other people. Those numbers are important. Being good at that kind of math is important. 

Yesterday I was in a shoe store. Clearance sale. There were lots of shoes. There were lots of sizes, but really there weren’t because most women have a certain shoe size and so the selection skewed to larger sizes. Women with those sizes were clamouring to get their feet into some cute/badass/sexy/practical/awesome sweet deals. Was I jealous of those bigger feet? Sure. Did I look down on my own minuscule and tear them a new foot-ass? No. I mean, I wanted to add to my shoe total, but sometimes you have to go with the number you have because you can’t change it in that moment.

I did get some new boots for $13. They were size 8.5. A little big, but I can make it work. Jam some insoles in, whatever. It was a $260 savings. I mean, that kind of math I can handle.