Who's that sickly chick? Oh, wait...

I've recently been blessed with new friends on Facebook... the kind that have never met me, which is generally a good thing for them. The joy of social networking is the chance to learn about the other grasses, greener or otherwise, when the ol' homestead patch gets a little dull. The downside is that the cyber-me is even stranger than the real thing.

I took a little time today to look at the pictures on my page. These are typically there to serve as an overview of that which I hold dear; my family, my furries and the evidence that I do, in fact, leave the house occasionally. Unfortunately, what I found is not necessarily the representation of myself that I'd prefer. Exhibit A:



The last time I saw limbs that stick-like was, well... the last stick I saw. And the fact that this is one of those rare moments when my cane snuck into the shot makes it even worse. (see post several links down for the rant on canes). And then there's this beauty that we shall dub, per acceptable sequential order, Exhibit B:



I look like a cancer patient, which should be offensive to cancer patients everywhere. The eyes are so sunken, they're planning an escape via the back of my head. Those Cherokee cheekbones are sharp enough to slice bread but (from an outside's view) I appear to never eat such things.

Granted, I've always been small. I once reached a staggering 112 pounds but that's been quite a few years (freshman ten and all that). But I can't account for the rest of the issues. In a recent post, I extolled the perils of growing old and I now see the proof that I wasn't just typing Dixie that day. Man, I need an intervention!

This is the image that people who 'friend' me will see; a skinny, gaunt and apparently ill chick in desperate need of a meal and potent medication. But seriously folks, it's not so bad in person... I think?