Skinny Bitching: A thirty-something woman mouths off about age angst, pregnancy pressure, and the dieting battles you'll never win

ISBN: 0385337876

Author: Lee, Jenny

Condition: New

Product DescriptionIn her acclaimed books I Do. I Did. Now What?! and What Wendell Wants, Jenny Lee hilariously chronicled the milestones of getting married and getting a dog. Now she takes on the most terrifying milestone of all: getting older.Tackling everything from the peer pressure to have children to resisting the siren call of suburbia, Skinny Bitching delivers unsparingly witty commentary on: What to do when you actually start breaking out again like you did in junior high school (how is that even possible?) Saying good-bye to going to bars, seeing bands, and generally being cool Finally facing the fact that those extra ten pounds are never coming off Dealing with the fact that just when you finally know what you want out of a husband, its too late to exchange himIn a hilarious and poignant homage to thirty-something women everywhere, Jenny Lee lets us in on her most intimate secrets as she transforms her modern-day angst into something timeless, moving, and unfailingly funny.About the AuthorJenny Lee was born in Tennessee and now lives in Cambridge, MA, with her husband and their dog, Wendell, a Wheaton Terrier. She writes for Animal Fair, Redbook, and The Boston Globe Sunday Magazine.Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.SKINNY BITCHING:Why I Hate Diets, Exercise, andAnyone Skinnier than MeAt the age of thirty-three, I'm almost ready to give up on the fantasy of ever being a Skinny Bitch.How the whole Skinny Bitch thing works is like this: Any woman who's superskinny is a Skinny Bitch, and we hate her (all of us who are less skinny than she is). But just because we hate her doesn't mean that we wouldn't do just about anything to be skinny like her--and when I say "just about anything," I mean JUST ABOUT ANYTHING (well, besides actually eating a sensible diet and exercising every day, because, hey, we gotta draw the line somewhere). . . .The most interesting thing to note about the whole Skinny Bitch concept is that it's completely relative. So what constitutes a Skinny Bitch to me is not necessarily what will do it for you. My husband once sweetly pointed out that if one were to be consistent about this approach, then I myself would be seen as a Skinny Bitch by those larger than me. After a moment's pause, I quickly waved off this idea. Because the whole Skinny Bitch philosophy is built on a way of thinking that is completely personal (and most certainly irrational). It's no comfort to me that I happen to be someone else's idea of a Skinny Bitch; I want to be my own idea of a Skinny Bitch. Which was where my husband threw his arms in the air, shook his head, and walked off, muttering under his breath, "Crazy bitch might be more apt.""I HEARD THAT!" I yelled after him.But I wasn't really mad. Because in a way he had a point.I suck in my stomach whenever I get on my scale. Sure, I know it's irrational, but when it comes to women and their relationships with scales, there's no room for logic (I'm convinced that logic adds at least a pound or two). Once I'm on the scale, I immediately close my eyes. You'd think I could close my eyes first and then step on the scale, since it's right in front of me and only two inches off the ground, but once I misstepped and tipped the scale, managing to crash headfirst into my towel rack, which caused a bump that was definitely big enough to add some weight to my grand total, so I wasn't able to get on the scale for, like, a week, which in retrospect wasn't such a bad thing.SO--once I'm safely on the scale, I take a deep breath, which I rapidly exhale in order to empty my lungs of all the air that my husband assures me doesn't weigh anything (listen, just because he was a physics major at MIT and is now a doctor doesn't necessarily mean he knows everything). It goes without saying that I'm totally buck-naked--no watch, no wedding ring, no hair bands--and, depending on the level of my pre-weigh-in dread, I may have even shaved