I remember the exact moment I became fat.
It was 1979 and I was 12 years old and standing in my mother’s bedroom in front of her mirror. The next day was 1950’s day at my junior high school and my mother said she had just the thing. She pulled a gorgeous dress out of her closet. A dress so breathtaking that even though she could not longer wear it she had not been able to part with it. A rose fantasy in chiffon and tulle nipped smartly at the waist. It was the kind of dress made for a 13-year-old girl’s dreams.
I struggled to get it on. Eventually I got it over my hips, but no amount of wishing could get the zipper more than half way up.
“Hmmm, my mother said. I guess you’re too fat.”
I felt my face flush. I desperately fumbled again with the…
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