Damien Galeone

There is a full length mirror in the hallway near my office that I am almost always able to avoid. Once in a while I’ll check my teeth after a salad or check my beard’s progress as I walk by at a quick pace.

But sometimes, like this morning, I let my Inner Sadist out for a walk and take a good, long look at myself in the mirror. Normally, the Inner Sadist would focus on my belly or ridiculous nose, but before He can indulge in such a self-beating, we both realize I am wearing all brown. Every stitch of outer wear is some hue of brown. My camel brown pants complement my burnt umber shoes. In an unintentional breach of fashion laws that suggests an inability to discern colors, my jacket and hat are both chocolate-brown with olive trim. Adding cosmic insult to injury, my bag is the same.

Removing my coat reveals a seal brown shirt.

Oh the Inner Sadist is going to have a field day with this whole thing.

The Inner Sadist makes his appearance once in a while, just to make life interesting. He does this employing one of three Modus Operandi.

1. Pain: This is often achieved by flicking my tongue against a mouth ulcer or plucking nose hairs. Scabs do not last long on my body.

2. Physical Judgment: There is a pair of pants in my closet that stopped being part of my wardrobe when my weight started beginning with a 2. The Inner Sadist sometimes coerces me into putting them on, buttoning them and releasing my belly so that I resemble a human ice cream cone. Sometimes I tuck my chin back into my throat and see how many chins I can grow. The record is eight and was set on June 16th, 2010.

3. Mental Examination: This usually involves replaying a conversation from my past. These conversations often resulted in or took place immediately after the dissolution of a relationship. Sometimes I ask a friend to assess my character and prefix it with “Tell me the truth….” And sometimes, I call my mother.

From time to time, the Inner Sadist gets ambitious and parlays two of the options into one session. This is one of those times.

Utilizing the mirror fulfills Option 2. Searching the internet for personality tests to analyze my clothing fulfills Option 3.

According to Women’s Health Magazine, I am a trendsetting farm girl who will find the man of his dreams by putting an ad in Field and Stream. According to Seventeen, I am sporty, stylish and ‘ain’t gonna let no man push me around.’ According to Are You a Metrosexual.com, I have some suspicious tendencies and should spend less time in the shower and avoid talking about George Clooney.

Sleeping in pajamas suggests that I‘m in need of love, desire to be taken care of and panic easily. My belts tell the world that I am hardworking, intelligent, and passionate when in love. I am not sure about any of that, but there are at least three people on Earth who heartily disagree with the last part.

My shoes say that I am a person who is pleasant to be with, easygoing and always in a good mood. Moreover, I don’t care about how I look (obviously), and I know that what’s inside someone’s heart is most important.

I score Granny Panties on the ‘What Kind of Underwear are You test.’ (Happy Birthday, Steltzer)

My analysis: I have always known that someone would figure out that I am a farm girl trapped in a fat man’s body. Furthermore, granny panties have forever appealed to some taboo part of me. Upon seeing ‘easy going’ and ‘always in a good mood,’ I realize that there has been a mistake. I retake the test and find that the test thinks I am a prick. This seems to be based on the fact that I retook the test. Still, being labeled a prick is more comforting than being labeled easygoing.

The Inner Sadist has been momentarily sated; now I feel comfortable.

What does your Inner Sadist do?