Why Didn T Skip Breakfast Experiment
Experiment
An experiment starts with
A question
A wondering
A hypothesis
What would happen if
I didn’t skip breakfast?
How would I feel if
I skipped lunch?
Made some coffee instead,
Forget,
Tell myself that I’m too busy
What are the results
Of my little experiment
With self-control?
The History of the Dressing Room
“You’re being ridiculous,” Mom sighs, exasperated, as she walks out of the dressing room. The door slams behind her and tears fall faster. I pull myself into a standing position and take one more look in the mirror, but what I see there only makes me cry harder. In fifth grade, at 4’11’, I am healthy hundred pounds and change. I wear a girls’ size 12 slim, which is reflective of my age and supposedly, my build. But when I look in the mirror all I see is fat. Round, doughy, soft, fat. I lift my shirt over my stomach to examine the jeans, or top or dress that I am trying on. This could be a hundred dressing room on a hundred different shopping trips gone wrong. All ending in tears, and self-loathing, and hatred. …show more content…
I sit down. I stand up. I revisit the long routine that I will bring to dressing rooms for the rest of my life. Turn this way, turn that way. Walk around. Scrutinize. The mirrors judge and the fluorescent lights don’t forgive, but I don’t blame them. Instead, I look my little girl self in the eye and tell her that I hate her body. I tell her that she’s fat and ugly and that nothing is going to look good on her because of that. Somewhere on the edges of my mind I remember that my mom is waiting, annoyed. Another shopping trip ruined by the tears and irrationality of her oldest
An experiment starts with
A question
A wondering
A hypothesis
What would happen if
I didn’t skip breakfast?
How would I feel if
I skipped lunch?
Made some coffee instead,
Forget,
Tell myself that I’m too busy
What are the results
Of my little experiment
With self-control?
The History of the Dressing Room
“You’re being ridiculous,” Mom sighs, exasperated, as she walks out of the dressing room. The door slams behind her and tears fall faster. I pull myself into a standing position and take one more look in the mirror, but what I see there only makes me cry harder. In fifth grade, at 4’11’, I am healthy hundred pounds and change. I wear a girls’ size 12 slim, which is reflective of my age and supposedly, my build. But when I look in the mirror all I see is fat. Round, doughy, soft, fat. I lift my shirt over my stomach to examine the jeans, or top or dress that I am trying on. This could be a hundred dressing room on a hundred different shopping trips gone wrong. All ending in tears, and self-loathing, and hatred. …show more content…
I sit down. I stand up. I revisit the long routine that I will bring to dressing rooms for the rest of my life. Turn this way, turn that way. Walk around. Scrutinize. The mirrors judge and the fluorescent lights don’t forgive, but I don’t blame them. Instead, I look my little girl self in the eye and tell her that I hate her body. I tell her that she’s fat and ugly and that nothing is going to look good on her because of that. Somewhere on the edges of my mind I remember that my mom is waiting, annoyed. Another shopping trip ruined by the tears and irrationality of her oldest