Confessions Of A Skinny Woman

Getting the skinny on being skinny

by Maxine Rock

June 1, 2006

I am skinny. You say it makes you jealous? What a laugh! Thin may be in, but having a body shaped like a stick is not much fun. I’m all edges and angles particularly where I’d rather be bumps and curves. Plump women who cast envious glances in my scrawny direction are unaware of the frustrations I face from being the size of a shadow. Here are just a few:

My clothes droop. I put them on and they hang there like sad, empty sacks. It's especially hard not having any beef on my bottom; pants do have a front and a back, you know, and they're supposed to bulge a little in the rear. But my posterior is so flat that I once even succumbed to a catalog ad for a special pair of panties stuffed with little pillows, made especially for poor thin souls like me. They worked fine until I was caught in a downpour one day and the little pillows got wet. They soaked up several pounds of moisture, then squished and squiggled all day, until I finally tossed them out. So much for a faux derrière. Everybody is my mother. "Eat! Eat!" they all urge. Friends watch my food intake and scowl if I leave a morsel untouched, and my husband is always crooning, "Would you like some dessert, dear?" Even my kids pipe up, "Are you eating three string-beans today, string-bean?" (Ha, ha). When I'm hungry, and show it by shoveling in an obscene amount of food, these same people cluck-cluck and demand to know, "Where do you put it?" Well, it goes into my mouth, then down to my tummy, and then...


Everybody wants to know my secret. How do I stay so thin? Beats me. I have no secret, no mystery regimen, no magic formula. I don't stuff myself with sprouts or chant a mantra before meals. So, I have no words of wisdom to impart to those who are blessed with an abundance of what I lack, which is some soft, welcoming flesh on my bones. This being said, I now have a question for you: Why do you keep asking for my secret? If I had one, I'd sell it!

Being thin hasn't helped my health. I have to exercise just as hard to stay in shape, spurn fried foods just as much, see my doctor just as often. In addition, being thin puts me at higher risk for osteoporosis, so I must gulp platter-sized calcium pills simply to keep my little bones from breaking. My cholesterol numbers aren't so hot, either. Aren't skinny people supposed to have less bad stuff clinging to their arteries? Go figure.

I believe that thin people like me -- male or female -- are seen as having less power, less influence, less heft. Which business speaker do you believe, someone who has a big presence onstage, or the pipsqueak? Who would you want to rescue you from a burning building, the strapping fireman, or the one who is as scrawny as the hose? Why do dress shops cater to full-size women, while the petite section is crammed into a little corner?

You get my drift. Matter of fact, I'll go as far as saying skinny people are victims of discrimination. Why else would perfectly rational women sneer at me and hiss, "I hate you for being so thin." Give me a break, ladies. Believe me, none of this is my fault! Please don't be hostile. I gained weight once, when I was pregnant, but when the baby was born my body bounced right back to its skinny self, like a rubber band that had been stretched too far and was finally snapping into its rightful shape. I didn't even have time to sprout a well-earned sagging tummy, as proof of motherhood.

My advice to women who think they are chunky or ample is to enjoy what you have without casting envious glances at those of us who are less-endowed. Remember that both Venus and Cupid are portrayed as chubby and round, not lean and stringy. Quit worrying. Quit complaining. And quit spending money on diet books. Buy me a hot fudge sundae, instead.