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Skinny Bones Jones， Twig， Stick and Monkey Arms were some of the nicer names the kids at school called me when I was a kid. Thin didn’t begin to describe my appearance. I was an extremely picky eater with the 1）metabolism of a hummingbird. I was so slight in stature， I looked like a good stiff wind could blow me over. A boy at school once took a look at me and asked，“Are those strings or legs？”
Being 2）scrawny and skeletal was made even worse by the fact that my mother was plumply overweight. Mom had me late in life， so she was firmly in middle age by the time I was old enough to walk. She battled her bulge by occasionally following 3）Weight Watchers and exercising alongside 4）Jack LaLanne. Doing 500 jumping jacks， 100 legs lifts and 25 push-ups were soon followed by lunches of 5）cottage cheese with canned beets， last night’s leftover mashed potatoes，then enjoying a large bowl of 6）rocky road ice cream while watching 7）Days of Our Lives. By the time I was eight， Mom gave up on ever getting her pre-four-children-body back， so she threw out the Weight Watchers books and our bathroom scale in one last act of suburban， house-wifely defiance， forcing me to monitor my growth and weight gain at other people’s houses. And when classmates asked me to come to their house to play， my first question wasn’t， Do you own a Barbie Dreamhouse？ but Do you have a scale？
The scale was my Gypsy， my magic carpet ride， my hope， my curse. Its numbers c o u l d d a s h m y dreams， leave me flat， or give me hopeful news. I’d jump on it with abandon， fully c l o t h e d ， w e a r i n g sneakers， marveling at the spinning dial that swung back and forth like a 8）pendulum until it settled on my true weight. If I gained a pound or two， I was elated and I’d go home later， triumphant.
“Mom， I weighed myself at Kerry’s house. I’m 60 pounds！” The number was always a revelation. A joy. A cause for celebration.
Somehow， I grew from a scrawny beanstalk of a child into a 9）lithe and extremely lean teen. By the age of 20， I finally reached five-feet， six-anda-half inches tall and weighed a perfect， California actress/model， 120 pounds. I assumed I’d stay that perfect weight forever. Sadly， I was mistaken.
When I was 23， I started dating a boy I was crazy about and also began working full-time as a secretary at a small publishing company after graduating college. Between commuting an hour to work each way， sitting behind a desk 8 hours， then seeing my beloved every night over dinners of all-you-can-eat ribs or chowing down on pizza， pasta and garlic knots， I began filling out and didn’t realize it. I assumed pants I’d always worn， had simply shrunk. When I went to the 10）gynecologist’s office， I got on the scale and argued with the nurse when she said I weighed 129 pounds. “That’s impossible，” I shouted. “I’ve always been 120 pounds.”She rolled her eyes at me and assured me there was nothing wrong with the scale. Was it possible I’d gained nearly 10 pounds in just over six months？ No， I told myself！ I clung fiercely to the notion that the scale was broken the same way that Kate Winslet hung on to that piece of wood after the Titanic sank. A few weeks later， a co-worker pulled me aside and said，“You were so cute and tiny when you started here， but you’ve put on weight. You better watch it.” That’s when I realized the doctor’s scale wasn’t broken and something had to be done.
I’d never dieted a day in my life and didn’t know how. I figured the problem couldn’t possibly be my food choices， or that I was eating junk at work out of boredom， but that I wasn’t getting enough exercise. I tried to do something about it， but after a few weeks， there was no way to sugar coat it. I hated the gym. I hated the smell of dirty socks； the loud monotonous music； the complicated 11）Nautilus machines dripping with other people’s sweat. Most of all， I hated myself. And I hated that I was just a plain girl who was easily ignored.
I feel self-conscious writing about these 12）first-world problems， because at my height， weighing 130 or 135 pounds isn’t that 13）egregious an error， except that I live in Los Angeles， home of Muscle Beach， the entertainment industry and the place where beautiful， skinny girls stand on every corner waiting for their reality show to start.
I think what I miss most of all from that tiny sliver of time， when I owned that perfect， actress slash model， 120-pound body， is that I was young once and certain I was going to write the next Great American novel. I was young once， and ate anything I wanted without fear or regret. I was young once and used to come home to a mother who’d look at me like I was the most beautiful， magnificent girl in the world， then she’d hand me a bowl of rocky road ice cream and fill me in on what happened on Days of Our Lives. Like that body， those days are sadly， long gone.
“瘦骨”琼斯、小枝儿、细棍子和猴子臂，小时候，学校里的孩子爱给我取外号，这几个还算是比较厚道的了。“瘦”这个词还不足以描述我的长相。我曾经极度挑食，而新陈代谢的速度却又跟蜂鸟一样奇快无比。我的身材单薄到看上去一阵大风就能把我吹上天去。学校里的一个男孩曾经瞅了我一眼，问道：“那两根是绳子呢，还是腿？”
我瘦骨嶙峋也就罢了，更糟的是，我母亲却肥胖超标。妈妈年纪很大了才生下我，所以当我长到会走路的时候，她已经完全人到中年。她时不时会按慧优体的诀窍减重，又跟着美国健身大师杰克·拉兰内锻炼，以此来与肥胖作斗争。不过，500个开合跳、100个抬腿和25个俯卧撑后，很快就是一顿白软干酪配罐装甜菜加前一晚吃剩的土豆泥搭配而成的午餐，接着是边看《我们的日子》边享用一大碗岩石路冰激凌。到我八岁时，妈妈放弃了一切努力，不再巴望着恢复到四个孩子未出生前的体型，于是使出郊区主妇最后的性子，一把扔掉了慧优体的书和浴室体重计，逼得我只能去别人家量测自己的身高体重了。而当同学们邀我到他们家玩时，我的第一个问题不是“你家有‘芭比梦想豪宅’吗？”而是“你家有体重计吗？”
体重计就是我的吉普赛，我的魔毯之旅，我的希望，我的诅咒。它的读数能打碎我的美梦，让我彻底泄气，或是带给我希望之音。我会全副武装，穿上运动鞋，肆意跳上去，看着指针像钟摆一样来回摆动，直到它停在我的真实体重读数上，惊叹不已。如果体重增加了一两磅的话，我会变得兴高采烈，之后欢欣鼓舞地回家去。
“妈妈，我在凯瑞家称体重了。我有60磅（27.22公斤）！”读数永远都是一件新鲜事，一种快乐，一个值得庆祝的理由。 不知怎的，我从小时候那个皮包骨的豆芽菜长成了一个轻盈瘦削的少女。到20岁那年，我的身高终于达到了5.65英尺（约1.69米），而体重则是一个完美的加利福尼亚州演员兼模特那样的120磅（约54.43公斤）。我以为自己将会永远保持这个完美的体重。不幸的是，我错了。
二十三岁时，我开始与一个让我痴迷不已的男孩约会，同时开始干着一份在大学毕业后找到的全职工作，在一家小出版公司当文秘。单程一小时的上班时间，在办公桌旁坐上八个小时，每晚与情人共进晚餐，啃着“吃到饱猪肋排”或大嚼披萨饼、通心粉和蒜香面包结，日子一长，我开始长胖却不自知。我认为我一直都在穿的裤子只不过是缩水了。当我到妇科医生的办公室时，顺便称了称体重。当护士说我体重129磅（约58.51公斤）时，我跟她争辩了起来。“那是不可能的，”我大叫道。“我一直都是120磅重的。”她白了我一眼，向我保证说那个体重计一点问题都没有。我有可能在仅仅六个月之内就增重了接近10磅吗？不可能的，我跟自己说！我死命坚称是体重计坏掉了，就像凯特·温丝莱特在泰坦尼克号沉没后拼命抱着那片木板一样。
几周后，一位同事把我拉到一边对我说：“你刚来这里时，多么娇小可爱啊，怎么现在都长胖了呀。你得注意一下了。”这时候，我才意识到，医生的体重计并没有坏，我得有所行动了。
我这辈子从来就没节食过，也不知道该怎么做。我觉得问题不可能出在我对食物的选择上，或是工作无聊时吃的垃圾食品上，而是因为我的运动量不够。我试图对此做些什么，但几个星期以后，已经没办法掩饰下去了。我痛恨健身房。我痛恨脏袜子的味道、吵闹单调的音乐、复杂的滴着别人汗水的健身器材。最糟糕的是，我痛恨我自己。我痛恨自己只是个相貌平平的姑娘，容易被忽视。
当写下这些“第一世界难题”时，我觉得挺难为情的，因为以我的身高，体重在130或135磅并不是什么极其恶劣的过失，只可惜我住在洛杉矶——“肌肉海滩”之乡，娱乐产业发达，在这个地方，美丽而纤瘦的女孩站在每个角落等候她们的真人秀上演。
我想，对于那段极其短暂的时光，那段我拥有完美演员兼模特的120磅体重的日子，我最想念的是自己曾经那么年轻，确信自己将写出下一本伟大的美国小说。我曾经那么年轻，想吃什么就吃什么，从不担心或悔恨。我曾经那么年轻，那时常常回到家后，母亲会看着我，就像我是世界上最漂亮最出色的女孩，接着递给我一碗岩石路冰激凌，然后给我恶补《我们的日子》里发生的故事。不幸的是，就像那个体型一样，那样的日子早已一去不复返了。
Being 2）scrawny and skeletal was made even worse by the fact that my mother was plumply overweight. Mom had me late in life， so she was firmly in middle age by the time I was old enough to walk. She battled her bulge by occasionally following 3）Weight Watchers and exercising alongside 4）Jack LaLanne. Doing 500 jumping jacks， 100 legs lifts and 25 push-ups were soon followed by lunches of 5）cottage cheese with canned beets， last night’s leftover mashed potatoes，then enjoying a large bowl of 6）rocky road ice cream while watching 7）Days of Our Lives. By the time I was eight， Mom gave up on ever getting her pre-four-children-body back， so she threw out the Weight Watchers books and our bathroom scale in one last act of suburban， house-wifely defiance， forcing me to monitor my growth and weight gain at other people’s houses. And when classmates asked me to come to their house to play， my first question wasn’t， Do you own a Barbie Dreamhouse？ but Do you have a scale？
The scale was my Gypsy， my magic carpet ride， my hope， my curse. Its numbers c o u l d d a s h m y dreams， leave me flat， or give me hopeful news. I’d jump on it with abandon， fully c l o t h e d ， w e a r i n g sneakers， marveling at the spinning dial that swung back and forth like a 8）pendulum until it settled on my true weight. If I gained a pound or two， I was elated and I’d go home later， triumphant.
“Mom， I weighed myself at Kerry’s house. I’m 60 pounds！” The number was always a revelation. A joy. A cause for celebration.
Somehow， I grew from a scrawny beanstalk of a child into a 9）lithe and extremely lean teen. By the age of 20， I finally reached five-feet， six-anda-half inches tall and weighed a perfect， California actress/model， 120 pounds. I assumed I’d stay that perfect weight forever. Sadly， I was mistaken.
When I was 23， I started dating a boy I was crazy about and also began working full-time as a secretary at a small publishing company after graduating college. Between commuting an hour to work each way， sitting behind a desk 8 hours， then seeing my beloved every night over dinners of all-you-can-eat ribs or chowing down on pizza， pasta and garlic knots， I began filling out and didn’t realize it. I assumed pants I’d always worn， had simply shrunk. When I went to the 10）gynecologist’s office， I got on the scale and argued with the nurse when she said I weighed 129 pounds. “That’s impossible，” I shouted. “I’ve always been 120 pounds.”She rolled her eyes at me and assured me there was nothing wrong with the scale. Was it possible I’d gained nearly 10 pounds in just over six months？ No， I told myself！ I clung fiercely to the notion that the scale was broken the same way that Kate Winslet hung on to that piece of wood after the Titanic sank. A few weeks later， a co-worker pulled me aside and said，“You were so cute and tiny when you started here， but you’ve put on weight. You better watch it.” That’s when I realized the doctor’s scale wasn’t broken and something had to be done.
I’d never dieted a day in my life and didn’t know how. I figured the problem couldn’t possibly be my food choices， or that I was eating junk at work out of boredom， but that I wasn’t getting enough exercise. I tried to do something about it， but after a few weeks， there was no way to sugar coat it. I hated the gym. I hated the smell of dirty socks； the loud monotonous music； the complicated 11）Nautilus machines dripping with other people’s sweat. Most of all， I hated myself. And I hated that I was just a plain girl who was easily ignored.
I feel self-conscious writing about these 12）first-world problems， because at my height， weighing 130 or 135 pounds isn’t that 13）egregious an error， except that I live in Los Angeles， home of Muscle Beach， the entertainment industry and the place where beautiful， skinny girls stand on every corner waiting for their reality show to start.
I think what I miss most of all from that tiny sliver of time， when I owned that perfect， actress slash model， 120-pound body， is that I was young once and certain I was going to write the next Great American novel. I was young once， and ate anything I wanted without fear or regret. I was young once and used to come home to a mother who’d look at me like I was the most beautiful， magnificent girl in the world， then she’d hand me a bowl of rocky road ice cream and fill me in on what happened on Days of Our Lives. Like that body， those days are sadly， long gone.
“瘦骨”琼斯、小枝儿、细棍子和猴子臂，小时候，学校里的孩子爱给我取外号，这几个还算是比较厚道的了。“瘦”这个词还不足以描述我的长相。我曾经极度挑食，而新陈代谢的速度却又跟蜂鸟一样奇快无比。我的身材单薄到看上去一阵大风就能把我吹上天去。学校里的一个男孩曾经瞅了我一眼，问道：“那两根是绳子呢，还是腿？”
我瘦骨嶙峋也就罢了，更糟的是，我母亲却肥胖超标。妈妈年纪很大了才生下我，所以当我长到会走路的时候，她已经完全人到中年。她时不时会按慧优体的诀窍减重，又跟着美国健身大师杰克·拉兰内锻炼，以此来与肥胖作斗争。不过，500个开合跳、100个抬腿和25个俯卧撑后，很快就是一顿白软干酪配罐装甜菜加前一晚吃剩的土豆泥搭配而成的午餐，接着是边看《我们的日子》边享用一大碗岩石路冰激凌。到我八岁时，妈妈放弃了一切努力，不再巴望着恢复到四个孩子未出生前的体型，于是使出郊区主妇最后的性子，一把扔掉了慧优体的书和浴室体重计，逼得我只能去别人家量测自己的身高体重了。而当同学们邀我到他们家玩时，我的第一个问题不是“你家有‘芭比梦想豪宅’吗？”而是“你家有体重计吗？”
体重计就是我的吉普赛，我的魔毯之旅，我的希望，我的诅咒。它的读数能打碎我的美梦，让我彻底泄气，或是带给我希望之音。我会全副武装，穿上运动鞋，肆意跳上去，看着指针像钟摆一样来回摆动，直到它停在我的真实体重读数上，惊叹不已。如果体重增加了一两磅的话，我会变得兴高采烈，之后欢欣鼓舞地回家去。
“妈妈，我在凯瑞家称体重了。我有60磅（27.22公斤）！”读数永远都是一件新鲜事，一种快乐，一个值得庆祝的理由。 不知怎的，我从小时候那个皮包骨的豆芽菜长成了一个轻盈瘦削的少女。到20岁那年，我的身高终于达到了5.65英尺（约1.69米），而体重则是一个完美的加利福尼亚州演员兼模特那样的120磅（约54.43公斤）。我以为自己将会永远保持这个完美的体重。不幸的是，我错了。
二十三岁时，我开始与一个让我痴迷不已的男孩约会，同时开始干着一份在大学毕业后找到的全职工作，在一家小出版公司当文秘。单程一小时的上班时间，在办公桌旁坐上八个小时，每晚与情人共进晚餐，啃着“吃到饱猪肋排”或大嚼披萨饼、通心粉和蒜香面包结，日子一长，我开始长胖却不自知。我认为我一直都在穿的裤子只不过是缩水了。当我到妇科医生的办公室时，顺便称了称体重。当护士说我体重129磅（约58.51公斤）时，我跟她争辩了起来。“那是不可能的，”我大叫道。“我一直都是120磅重的。”她白了我一眼，向我保证说那个体重计一点问题都没有。我有可能在仅仅六个月之内就增重了接近10磅吗？不可能的，我跟自己说！我死命坚称是体重计坏掉了，就像凯特·温丝莱特在泰坦尼克号沉没后拼命抱着那片木板一样。
几周后，一位同事把我拉到一边对我说：“你刚来这里时，多么娇小可爱啊，怎么现在都长胖了呀。你得注意一下了。”这时候，我才意识到，医生的体重计并没有坏，我得有所行动了。
我这辈子从来就没节食过，也不知道该怎么做。我觉得问题不可能出在我对食物的选择上，或是工作无聊时吃的垃圾食品上，而是因为我的运动量不够。我试图对此做些什么，但几个星期以后，已经没办法掩饰下去了。我痛恨健身房。我痛恨脏袜子的味道、吵闹单调的音乐、复杂的滴着别人汗水的健身器材。最糟糕的是，我痛恨我自己。我痛恨自己只是个相貌平平的姑娘，容易被忽视。
当写下这些“第一世界难题”时，我觉得挺难为情的，因为以我的身高，体重在130或135磅并不是什么极其恶劣的过失，只可惜我住在洛杉矶——“肌肉海滩”之乡，娱乐产业发达，在这个地方，美丽而纤瘦的女孩站在每个角落等候她们的真人秀上演。
我想，对于那段极其短暂的时光，那段我拥有完美演员兼模特的120磅体重的日子，我最想念的是自己曾经那么年轻，确信自己将写出下一本伟大的美国小说。我曾经那么年轻，想吃什么就吃什么，从不担心或悔恨。我曾经那么年轻，那时常常回到家后，母亲会看着我，就像我是世界上最漂亮最出色的女孩，接着递给我一碗岩石路冰激凌，然后给我恶补《我们的日子》里发生的故事。不幸的是，就像那个体型一样，那样的日子早已一去不复返了。