18
Confessions of a Fat Girl Jules Twinings I stare at the love of my life. He looks so juicy, scrumptuous, and beefy. My three favorite things. My eyes gleam and my tongue salivates. I need a piece of that now! Lettuce, tomato, onion, and cheese lay on top of a beef patty packed into a sesame seed bun. As I bite into my third big Mac a burst of flavors send my taste buds tingling. These simple ingredients never fail to disappoint my cravings. The first mouthful is always the most satisfying. An instant later I stare sadly down at the empty paper wrappers and fry boxes. Not one crumb or ketchup stain remains. As I glance up from my devoured lunch scraps, my eyes meet the leers and jeers from the occupied booths around me. The glares of judgement. I know what they’re thinking. That poor girl. How did she get so big? She’s so young! It’s a shame. I hear a little boy whisper to his mother saying, “Mommy, that girl eats like a piggy.” The guilt and embarrassment ensues. My cheeks burn red. I run out of McDonald’s as fast as my stubby legs can and race home. The instant I unlock the kitchen door, I hastily raid the snack pantry. My stomach begins to grumble. The hunger never ceases. I find an unopened Family Size bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos. My guilty pleasure. Within minutes I finish the entire contents of the bag with nothing but orange cheese powder left on my chubby sausage-shaped fingers. Food is my life. It does not judge. It does not call me fat.. And it does not stare at me in disgust. It comforts me. I grab a box of Mrs. Fields chocolate chip cookies and head into the living room for my daily dose of Ellen. I walk past the mirror on the wall and catch a glimpse of my reflection. I hate mirrors. Who is this girl? Rolls of skin sit one by one beneath my chin, my arms squeeze out like flabby wings, and my stomach fat folds over the waist line of my jeans. Beneath the fat hides a lonely, insecure girl. I have no friends. No boyfriend. My only relationship is with food.