Some people look upon dieting as a deprivation. For me, it’s a regaining of self-control. It’s flying without a plane, without drugs. It’s an ice skater doing a pirouette in the middle of the rink with 3 million pairs of eyes glued on her, and she keeps twirling. It’s “the bombs bursting in air” on the Fourth of July. It’s Christmas morning for a six-year-old. It’s trick-or-treating, Easter bunny, Santa Claus, and Disneyland all rolled into one exquisite experience. It’s the only possible thing that could make me feel this way!
Jeremy is twelve, in the seventh grade. I’m aware that he worships me in many ways. He’s a darling, loving child. In the past, when I visited him at his elementary school, he was proud of me and happy to see me come. Last September, he transferred to a middle school—only sixth-, seventh-, and eighth-graders. I asked if he wanted me to join him for lunch sometime. He lowered his eyes; he hesitated answering me. “Well…”
“Jeremy, would you be embarrassed of me because I’m so fat?”
“Well…”
“Jeremy, it’s okay. Let me put it this way: If I were thin, would you want me to visit you at school?”
“Oh, yeah!” he answered with much enthusiasm.
Well, folks, that’s it in a nutshell! Re-al-i-ty. Fat is definitely not in! I ached in every fat cell of my body that minute.
Hang in there, Jeremy! I’m on my way. By the end of this school year, or next September at the latest, you’ll be begging me to come and eat with you. You’ll want to show me off to everyone you ever met in your whole life. You’ll hope the “coolest” guy in the school thinks I’m your girlfriend!
Okay, so the girlfriend idea is a little farfetched—but you will want to show me off! No more cute little comments from your friends, like your fellow saxophone player. Upon seeing me for the first time, he commented, “That your mom? She’s cute. A little chubby, but cute!” Chubby, my eye. Let’s talk tub o’ lard—blubber anonymous—fat city—bench breaker. I mean, we’re talking 250 pounds here!
Oh, yes, I’m going to have a whole new life with my children—I’m going to have real, get-down-and-play-in-the-dirt-with-’em fun!
And talk about fun… could anything be more fun, more out-of-this-world desirable than to “slip into something a little more comfortable” for my husband? Something soft, silky, and—dare I say it?—sexy… and actually look sexy? How I crave to be desired. How I want my gorgeous, perfect-bodied, still-fits-into-his-army-uniform-after-twenty-years husband to embrace me and not be separated by a foot of fat stomach. I want him to run his hands down my back and not have them get stuck between rolls of blubber. I want him to be able to put his arms around my waist… and feel a waist. I want him to ask me to raise my dress a little so he can look at my gorgeous legs again, instead of being turned off by my fat knees. I’m tired of being twice the woman he married!
Yes, I want to be thin again for Allen and for my children, but most of all, for me. I want to find me! I’m not 245 pounds. I’m a thin person, trapped inside a fat body. I’m a Rose Festival princess! Surely there’s a zipper somewhere. If I could just find the pull, and unzip this most unbecoming costume and step out as me—as I really am—like a butterfly emerging from its most unbecoming cocoon.