I was hanging out with my friend, who I'll call Jen, (because that's her name) and she was talking about her days in college. She mentioned a friend in her sorority who used to be bulimic, and then Jen mused, "but hey- what girl hasn't had an eating disorder at one point in her life?"
I thought- so true, Jen- so true.
Eating disorders and women go together like peanut butter and jelly- thrown up, of course. I've seen it all- anorexia, bulimia, laxative abuse, over-exercising, crash diets, pill popping-and even....cotton balls.
"I'm going to leave you here for about 30 minutes while the color sets," my hairdresser said to me at my favorite salon. I was settled under a hair dryer, flipping through a magazine and getting my roots touched up.
"My friend is coming over with lunch," my hairdresser continued, as a girl walked into the salon with a brown paper bag. "Oh, there she is now!"
My confusion turned to horror as my hairdresser and her friend pulled cotton balls and some apple juice out of the lunch sack, dipped the cotton balls into the juice, and then swallowed them whole.
She glanced over at me watching them, my jaw on the floor, and said- "Oh, the cotton balls- they expand in your stomach and you don't get hungry. I've lost like, ten pounds doing this."
A million thoughts raced through my head- if you have cotton balls for lunch, can you shit a quilt? And what's for dinner? Q-tips?
My jaw re-attached itself to my face and, thinking about her ten-pound loss, I asked- "can I have one?"
My one girlfriend in college was a full-blown bulimic, and even though her teeth started turning yellow from the stomach acid exposure- I couldn't help but admire her 115 lb. frame.
"She's reeks like puke," my other friend whispered to me.
"I know- but she looks great," I replied, envious.
A couple of times I've attempted to have an eating disorder and failed- like when I try to go without eating for a day to 'drop a pound or two', and then around 10pm that night I'm face-down in a frozen pizza, too hungry to wait and properly cook it in the oven.
"That's disgusting," my husband said, watching me gum the ice off a piece of pepperoni.
"I'm fucking STARVING!" I scream, my eyes rolled into the back of my head, crouched on the floor of our kitchen, hovered over the frozen pizza like a panther after a fresh kill. "Leave me ALONE!"
I could sit here and blame the media, supermodels, and society for our eating disorders- but really, I think women majorly bond over our fight with food, and maybe, a little bit- secretly enjoy it. We bitch with each other over spinning classes and our cabbage diet- and connect with each other in a way men cannot.
Pass the cotton balls- I've got a pool party to attend this weekend.
Quarter Life Whatever
3 years ago