I was a pudgy child, or so I saw myself. Others may have called me solid. One boy friend told me I wasn’t fat, just well-packed – like this was what a teenage girl wanted to hear from a guy she wanted to date?
I have been thinking of food all my life. Seriously. I don’t need a shrink to tell me that food fills emotional holes. The first one opened when my mother died, when eating made me feel less alone. I ate at exam time in college, when food filled the confidence hole. I ate when my kids were little, when food filled the frantic, what-do-I-do hole. I ate when I wrote, when food filled in missing words or plot twists.