The Season of Food.

I had Thanksgiving dinner at my parents' house like last year. Rory drove in from Houston. Kendra drove in from Dallas. South intersected with North somewhere in the middle for a family feast. I had cooked an assortment of crisped vegetables, and my parents had the quintessential turkey with cranberry sauce, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and sweet potatoes. Shrimp and cocktail sauce was served as hors d'hoevres. I toasted with champagne, but felt like we did not have nearly enough fattening food on the table. Maybe my mother is so sick of cooking year after year that she gave up? I should have cooked more. I love dishes like creamed corn, green bean casserole, fresh bread with butter, and more comforting goodness. During a season when most people are hoping to lose weight, I'm actually trying to gain weight. Bring on the fat. People often look at me and say: "Are you able to afford enough to eat? You look so thin." I finally admitted this weekend that I probably am becoming too thin. My mom is taking me grocery shopping tomorrow to stock my kitchen with fattening foods. Rest assured, I do not look anorexic, but I guess I could stand to put on 5-10 pounds. I was always a twig growing up and it was not until college that I became "pleasantly plump." I remember my parents' horror when they watched me, their perfectly thin daughter, become suddenly curvaceous (adding 25 pounds). I had curves. I had cleavage. I was not what you would ever consider "fat" but my parents acted like I was monstrous. I had come home from college one Thanksgiving and I remember standing in the kitchen eating Reese's peanut butter cups and my mom looked at me and said, "You're eating... again?" Then she yelled for my dad. He came into the kitchen and they both stared at me like I was shooting up heroin at their table. "Look at yourself," my dad said. "You're practically popping out of your jeans." I held a Reese's peanut butter cup in my hand, unwrapped it, and popped it in my mouth. I knew that they had some serious serious issues about women and body image and that there was nothing wrong with me. I was not their perfectly thin daughter who had left their house years ago. I was changing. I was a woman and their criticisms were really not about my weight. It was about the fact that they did not approve of who I was, did not respect who I was, did not accept me, and wanted to control my life. The conversations became much, much uglier from there on out. I want to be accepted no matter if I weigh 145 pounds or 120 pounds.

Tomorrow I have an interview. My stomach is butterflies. It would be fantastic news if I were to be hired for this position.