I have been called a variety of names throughout my life. There are few I prefer.
When I was in grade school, I was the tallest, thinnest little girl you could ever imagine. Long stick arms and legs flying everywhere out of clothing that was always too loose and too short. Pictures of me back then show ankles that were never covered, and wrists which had never known a blouse, jacket or winter coat that came down where it belonged. Even as an adult, it was only recently that clothing designers agreed folks who wore a size 2 were not always 5�2� tall.
Mother would curl my already thick curly hair in pin curls (little round circles held to your head by two bobby pins�.oh heck, bobby pins are metal fasteners you put into hair to hold it in place�jeez, ask your mother or grandmother what they are). There always seemed to be too much of it around a tiny little face that took years to grow into my permanent teeth.
Monster movies were very popular in the 50�s, and pretty much everyone remembered the slightly older ones still playing in the theaters (no, there was no HBO, or TMC � in fact, there weren�t even that many televisions). My last name was the same as a new movie monster, an unfortunate moniker. When someone wanted my attention, a chorus of �Hey Kong,� echoed across the schoolyard. I was not amused.
Over the years I�ve been called angular, bony, emaciated, gangly, gaunt, lanky, lean, malnourished, scrawny, skeletal, skin-and-bones, skinny, slender, spare, stringbean, thin, twiggy, undernourished, and underweight (this last one from a recent doctor�s notes). It was whispered I must have an eating disorder, when such things became known in polite society, (some in my dance community may still believe that one), and lately � a lot of comments about whether I might be ill. Apparently when you get my age you are supposed to settle into hips and thighs and bellies and droopy breasts and, well�.you know�..a �matronly� figure.
Folks around me seem appalled when I watch my diet, purchase Low Fat or Low Cholesterol foods, and try to avoid sweets (you have no idea just how hard THAT is). Just this weekend, as my son-in-law was making yet ANOTHER fabulous dessert and I was groaning about the pounds I�d already put on since Friday, my daughter tsk-tsked me (yes, the daughter who barely weighs 115 herself). My weight has been the same for 40 years. Yes, you heard me, 40 years. So I guess my body knows the right level and it doesn�t seem to be �matronly.�
Thus, despite the pre-supposition the photo at the start of this message may place in your mind, PLEASE realize that my father was slender, my mother was slender, I am slender, and my daughter is slender (yes, my preferred descriptor). It runs in the family. I watch my fat and cholesterol because the count is way higher than it is supposed to be from eating banana splits for lunch and Grand Slam breakfasts at midnight for too many years. Now I�m paying for it and since I have been told by Gabriel I must outlive him (I think the exact phrase was OR ELSE, although I have no idea how he expects it would be any easier for me to lose him) it�s gotta improve. And I�ll whine about it if I want to. So there.
If there is a moral to this missive, or a message, it is this. Folks of all sizes fight their own demons. Probably best not to judge.
�Who want dat girl wit� da� skinny legs?� ~~Lyrics by an artist I can�t remember
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