She's really thin.
    You're not thin.
    You keep putting the real dieting off. It's not convenient, you tell yourself. Dad will feel bad, like he can't even feed you right. Don't make him feel bad; you're bad enough already, and even though you know it, you can't really stop.
    But God, that girl is thin.
    Everything feels slow, muddled, stretched out these days. People say you haven't got enough self-confidence, but from what you've seen, self-confidence turns into arrogance. And think of that girl at school, who everyone hates because she's a loudmouth who thinks the world of herself. Maybe it's a coincidence that she's fat. Maybe it's not.
    For a second, you feel a little better that you're not as fat as she is. Then you turn your head, following the slight frame of that thin, thin girl, and remember that "not as fat" doesn't mean "not fat."
    When she sits, her thighs probably don't touch. When she sits, her stomach is probably perfect, without a single fold, even if she slouches and wears high waisted pants. She's not even pretty, but that doesn't matter because she looks comfortable in her skin. How could you feel stifled, thick, clumsy, when you're so thin?
    Dad thinks you worry about being thin too much. Which is funny, because you don't even tell him half of it. Maybe a quarter of it. It's hard to determine.
    You take a second to think about it. How much do you tell him? Seventeen percent? No, nineteen percent.
    Jesus, this is stupid.
    You're not nice enough to your dad. You should be nicer. But sometimes he just gets under your skin, and it's not as if you need more stuff packed into your skin. Sometimes you just feel like you'll just burst into a giant puddle on the floor, and you'll finally feel okay. Sometimes you wonder if you do worry too much about your body. Your BMI is normal. Your height to weight ratio is average, even on the lighter side. Maybe you're just distorting your body image. God, you hope you're distorting your body image.
    Then you see girls like her on the street, and you know it's not distortion because you definitely don't look like that. Or anything remotely close.
    You didn't get too lucky in life. And you feel guilty for thinking that, because Dad has told you stories about how he went hungry when he was little, and how his parents never seemed to like him enough. That's when you wonder if he thinks you like him enough, and it's hard to tell because you're just a bad daughter. He works so hard for you, and he's getting older. His shoulder's always hurting. You're not helping out enough, and everything you do seems to stress him out because you just don't do it right.
    No, you didn't get too lucky in life. Is it horrible that you wish you'd gone hungry a few more times as a child? He's so thin. You read online that Audrey Hepburn never gained weight, even though she tried, because she was malnourished when she was a kid. You can only wish that you looked like Audrey Hepburn.
    That you're even thinking it is horrible. But you can't stop thinking it.
    But it's okay. You'll get thinner eventually. You've lost some weight recently, and it can't be so hard to keep losing. Everything else seems to leave you, anyway.
    These days, you seem to just watch things crawling away from you, inching by slowly enough for you to know they're leaving, but quickly enough that you haven't got the time to fix it. Time's ticking itself away, too. You learned in Biology that people's metabolisms slow down at the age of fourteen or fifteen, and you're fifteen. If you can't get thin now, imagine how fat you'll get in a couple of years. It's all so scary. Where did all the time go? Only a few years ago, you were in sixth grade. Secure about your chubby little body. Jesus, did you actually think you were thin back then? It's laughable.
    It's all so tiring. You'll probably never be able to eat a donut again.
    You make the resolution to eat nothing but spinach once you're in college, when Dad doesn't make dinner and lunch and breakfast. It's a little unrealistic, but if you've got nothing in your dorm but spinach, you can't eat anything but spinach. And you'll get thin, like that girl leaving the parking lot on her bike.
    Biking. Maybe that's why she's so thin. Maybe you'll take up biking.
    But you probably won't.