Every day, I look for myself in other women’s bodies. This is what happens when you never see yourself in television shows or catalogues or movies—you get hungry. In passersby, I seek out a faithful replica of my own full chest: my plastic-bag stomach pooched over jeans, my milk-carton hips, and my face with its peach-pit cheekbones set in coffee grounds. In this way, I see myself in pieces, mostly, and have to assemble my body in my mind.
This version of How to Tell Your Best Friend You Are Sorry was reviewed by Jessica B. Casey on August 12, 2016.
Well my best friend was treating me horribly so I suggested that we take a break from each other. So I texted her saying "I think we should take a break and just not talk or anything for a...
“I never thought I’d retweet Mitt Romney without some sarcastic comment added. But here you go. Just this,” she tweeted.
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