Stephanie Reents’s first book, The Kissing List, was published by Hogarth/Crown in 2012 and received favorable reviews in The New York Times, The New Yorker, and the San Francisco Chronicle. Her short fiction has appeared in The O. Henry Prize Stories, Best of the West, and many literary journals. She reviews books for The Rumpus and works as the crafts editor at Cleaver Magazine.
This is my thigh. This is my favorite dress. This is my hair right after I got it highlighted. This is my left nipple. Just before I took the picture, I yanked out the weird hairs that have started popping up there. These are both of my breasts. They pass the pencil test as you can see from this one. (It’s not just a pencil lying on the floor. It’s the pencil that I tried to put under my breast.) This is my hand. My nail polish is Cherry Bomb. The coffee I am holding is from Starbucks. Even though I take a picture at least once a week of my Starbucks coffee, they are not my sponsors. This is my big toe. The color is Robin’s Egg. I have to shave both big toes once a week. Gross, right? I should probably go to the doctor and get tested. This is my thigh. And so is this. And this. And this. I’ve been hitting the gym hard. Not to brag or anything. This is me doing a squat. I put my phone on the bookcase because I wanted to see what I look like from behind. This is my elbow. This is my elbow from another angle. I really need to do something about that dry skin. Maybe that great new product made from snail slime? This is my best friend. This is my other best friend. These are my ankles—right one here, left one there. I wish I hadn’t gotten this butterfly tattoo. It just draws attention to my ankles, which, in my opinion, are my worst feature. They’re fat, especially compared to my calves. I’m worried I might have cankles—what do you think? The problem is you can’t do anything about them. You google “fat ankles.” See? It’s not like toe circles are going to firm them up. When I see myself in a skirt, I feel like crying. I should probably go to therapy. These are my legs in high heels. The reason I’m always wearing high heels is not because I’m a slut. I actually have a boyfriend. I’m just self-conscious about my ankles. People should remember that about other people. This is my hand holding a Starbucks coffee. My nails are Barbie Pink. I don’t usually get a Frappe, but I was really thirsty that day. You can see my steering wheel, which says, “Prius.” No, they are not my sponsors. I just happen to care about the environment. You should, too.