Sorry…

Here’s me in 1989:

Here’s what I saw when I looked in the mirror: Eyes too close together, hair too frizzy, nose too big, chin too long, smile too gummy, lips too thin, boobs too small, butt too big, legs too short, ankles too thick, feet too wide, shoulders too narrow, ears too lobey, big toes too fat. A total dog. If I could have afforded it, I’d have spent a fortune on cosmetic surgery.

It wasn’t just me. Other people were always helpfully informing me of my physical shortcomings, just in case I wasn’t aware of them. Around that time I was dating a guy who criticized my ankles, then criticized my attitude when I failed to thank him for it.

Now I’m fat, which for a woman is a capital crime. I’d kill myself out of shame, but it might upset my husband, who is still inexplicably fond of me. But don’t worry, obesity is also a serious health problem, so if I don’t manage to overcome it, I’ll probably die soon anyway.

In the meantime, I’m trying to lose weight but I keep backsliding. In the old days it was easy to stay thin. You don’t eat when you’re drunk and you don’t eat when you’re hung over. Maybe I should take up drinking again. And smoking Marlboros, and snorting coke, and going out with illiterate guys who steal from me. I’d still be pushing fifty, but at least I’d be thin.

Anyway, world, I apologize for not being beautiful. Please forgive me.