"You're still so thin," exclaimed my friend. I smiled. She
winked back at me and I knew what was coming next.
*
I had been rushing down Geula, eager to cross off some of the
`to do's on my list. She was window shopping outside the
jewelry store, talking to someone at her side. I walked right
past her and stopped. Something in the lilt of her voice, or
maybe the way she slung her handbag over her shoulder
arrested my attention and tickled my memory.
"Dina!" I called as I turned around.
She gazed at me, puzzled, and then smiled in recognition.
"Chava! Is it really you? Of course it is! You haven't
changed in all these years." I was transported briefly to the
7th grade and was looking into the eyes of a lanky girl with
a rolling sense of humor who had added spice to my school
days.
We reminisced about the good old days with relish, and then
her eyes traveled over me again. "You're still so thin. Here,
take ten kilos off me."
Kilos and pounds. The despised rejected layers that most
women are anxious to shed . . . I've lost count of how many
dozens of them I've been offered. They seem to dominate
almost every conversation I engage in. Each time I meet an
old acquaintance, that weighty matter rears its ponderous
bulk.
I was accosted by a woman when I went to shul for
Parshas Zochor, about six weeks after the birth of my
youngest. "Is that how you look ten weeks after birth?" she
demanded aggressively. I dared not correct her. "You're so
thin, you make me nervous."
Taking a few steps backwards in mock horror, I quipped, "In
that case, we'd better not stand near each other."
*
After the sixth offer of those kilos in just one day, I got
fed up, having nightmares of bulky boxes inundating my
apartment, each one labeled clearly with its weight and bound
firmly with a tape measure.
The seventh came from an acquaintance whose figure I envied
as being just right. How many is she anxious to lose?
I wondered.
"They're for free!" she pleaded.
"Not even for free," I retorted with a smile. "As of today,
the shipment is closed."
Some of us thinnies are also plagued with the downs and ups
of weight watching. While there are the food bingers, there
as also the restrictive eaters, those who eat little, due to
lack of appetite or simply because they forget to eat. I
guess my line runs in the family, because a relative
commented the other day, "It was nine p.m. when I realized I
hadn't eaten since the morning!"
The regular, healthy, non-anorexic slimmie might be juggling
housework, tearing about to finish before the kids come home.
Or she might be rattling off an article like I am doing now
and breakfast is shoved to a back burner. She may pop a
cracker into her mouth or sip a cup of coffee, but only when
she feels those flutters of weakness does she bother to
glance at the clock, only to realize that six hours have
passed since she got out of bed.
There were times when I seriously contemplated asking friends
for ideas on gaining, say up to five pounds, but the fear of
their reaction — their theatrical rolling of the eyes
and perhaps semihysterical laughter — kept me back.
So to answer your unasked questions:
NO, we don't purposefully starve ourselves.
YES, we do indulge in chocolate occasionally. And NO, thanks,
for your extra kilos. I am grateful for my slimness. One
worry off my head.
I thought I was happy with the way I was until I decided, on
a fanciful whim, to weigh in at the Mother and Baby clinic.
That's when I discovered that I had been infected with the "I
wanna be thin" trend.
"Oh, no!" I exclaimed in real horror as the metal weight
clanged into place. "I've gained two kilo! I'd better go on a
diet!"
