Free Such a Pretty Fat: One Narcissist's Quest to Discover if Her Life Makes Her Ass Look Big, or Why Pie Is Not the Answer by Jen Lancaster Page A

scale for fifteen minutes. Each time I place a toe on it, my whole foot jerks back as though the scale’s on fire.
    Try as I might, I can’t bring myself to stand on it.
    Shit.
    I have to weigh myself to get a baseline measurement so I can track my progress . . . or do I?
    The bathroom is directly off the room I use for my home office, and when I glance at my desk, I notice my digital camera. I quickly put on a pair of Lycra workout pants and sports bra and yank my hair out of its ponytail. I apply a sparkly coat of lip gloss, contour my cheeks with a dark blush, and don my favorite string of pearls because I’m going to document my weight loss photographically ! This is genius, especially with the advent of digital cameras, because it means no pockmarked teenager can make fun of me from the confines of his or her photo-developing booth. And how great will it be to arrange all the pictures together once I’m done, like a flip-book? I’ll call it The Incredible Shrinking Jen !
    To begin, I have to figure out where I should stand and how to work the camera’s timer, but before I do I take a long, hard look at myself in the mirror.
    I look . . . nice.
    My teeth are superwhite, 53 my hair is bouncy, and if I saw me on the street, I’d totally think I was cute. If I were single, guys would want to date me because I wouldn’t be the kind of pain in the ass who orders the lobster, takes a bite, and declares herself full. Clean-plate club, baby!
    Sure, there are a couple little lines around my eyes, but they’re small and positioned in such a way that when I smile, they enhance my grin rather than detract from it. Moving down, I can’t see the collarbones I worried so much about in my composite photo anymore, but at this point I imagine everyone ’s tired of looking at starving starlets’ clavicles on the cover of Us Weekly , so this is no great loss. 54
    My shoulders are broad, and I look like someone who doesn’t need the bag boy’s assistance getting her groceries to the car, thank you very much, even if my arms aren’t as round as I’d like. My chest is well proportioned to my frame, and I imagine with a few less pounds and the right corset, I could dress up as the St. Pauli Girl next Halloween. (That is, if I didn’t detest costumes.) And sure, gravity’s been a bitch, but that’s why I invest in good bras.
    Then there’s my stomach, where much of my weight is carried. I should hate it, but it’s smooth and brown and solid, kind of like . . . a perfectly baked loaf of bread. And who hates bread? Certainly not me! Yeah, my midriff is fat , but it’s not blobby, dimpled, rippling fat. It’s . . . pretty fat, if that’s possible.
    I continue my inspection, and I get to my hips and butt. I’m not a fan of my new ass-teau, but it’s behind me, so it’s not like I have to look at it all day, and besides, that’s why God invented girdles. Plus, it’s proportionate to the rest of my body, which I much prefer to being pear-shaped. Everyone likes apples more than pears.
    I take in my legs next. They are, in a word, powerful. My father was thisclose to being a professional football player, and I’ve inherited his fantastic legs. They’ve never been slender or dainty; rather, they’re incredibly well muscled. Sure, once you get north of my knees they’re squashy, but my calves look strong enough to win any ass-kicking contest.
    Smiling at my reflection, I give my hair another good shake before placing the camera on my makeup table. I set it and pose in front of the chocolate brown doors to my bedroom closet. Using my best posture, I suck in my gut and tilt my head slightly down and to the side in order to capture the best light. I hold the pose for another ten seconds until I see the flash go off.
    I check the camera’s display, but it’s so small and blurry, I can’t see anything. However, if my initial assessment is on target, I bet I look pretty good. Shoot; maybe I should consider plus-sized modeling.