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And of course, I compared myself endlessly to the impossibly thin women in magazines, just like the average-weight women I knew, to whom I also, by the way, compared myself.
Despite these blows to your self-esteem, for the most part nobody close to you really tells you to your face what they think about your weight.
come from a small-ish town in Oklahoma where we’ve never met a vegetable we couldn’t fry and the only thing more super-sized than our portions are the huge church complexes that alternate with fast-food restaurants along our roads.
So it maybe isn’t such a big surprise that by the time I graduated from high school, I weighed 260 pounds.
I wasn’t immune — hurtful things would happen on occasion.
Groups of rowdy teenagers sometimes yelled insults at me from car windows.
But then, the summer before my junior year of college, something changed.
My prom dress was a size 24, and my mother had to help me zip it up, a five-minute ordeal during which we grunted and cursed at one another.
My aunt had to custom-make my graduation gown, a huge white tent in which I resembled the Stay-Puft marshmallow man.