Bossypants

I just read Tina Fey's book (four years after everyone else) and it was very funny and a quick read so pick it up.  Here is her excerpts on her weight - FANTASTIC! I love all of her observances, EXCEPT, really....size 12 is fat? Hmmmmm. Maybe to a size four person.

Tina Fey -
Remembrances of Being Very Very Skinny

For a brief time at the turn of the century, I was skinny. This is what I remember about that period.
I was cold all the time.
I had a pair of size four corduroy shorts. That I wore. To work. In the middle of Manhattan.
I loved it when people told me I was getting too thin.
I once took a bag of sliced red peppers to the beach as a snack.
I regularly ate healthy food cookies so disgusting that when I enthusiastically gave one to Rachel Dratch she drew a picture of a rabbit and broke the cookie into a trail of tiny pieces coming out of the rabbit's butt.
Men I had met before suddenly paid attention to me...and I hated them for it.
Sometimes I had to sleep with a pillow between my legs because my bony knees clanking together kept me awake.
I had a lot of time on my hands because I wasn't constantly eating.
I ran three miles a day on a treadmill six days a week.
I felt wonderfully superior to everyone.
I didn't have kid yet.

Remembrances of Being a Little Bit Fat

For a brief time at the end of last century, I was overweight. This is what I remember from that period.
My boobs were bigger.
I once left a restaurant tin the middle of dessert to get to Krispy Kreme before it closed.
Even though I only liked McDonald's fries, I believed it was more nutritious to make a meal of it and have two cheeseburgers as well.
If I was really ambitious, I would get a Whopper Jr at Burger King and then walk to McDonalds to get the fries. The shake could be from anywhere.
I could not run a mile.
I wore oversize mens overalls that I LOVED.
Guys who were friends with me did not want to date me...and I hated them for it.
On at least three occasions, I vomited on Christmas Eve from mixing chocolate, peel and eat shrimp, summer sausage and cheese. No alcohol was involved.
As a size twelve, I took pride in the idea that I was a "real woman" sized. "Size twelve is the national average," I would boast, "no matter what magazines try to tell you."
Once, while ironing in my underwear, I grazed my protruding belly with the hot iron.