Eons and eons ago -- well, thirty and a bit years ago -- Herself attended a sleepover summer camp on a lake in the woods of Maine. It was an all-girls' camp, well-organized and strictly run. There was a uniform: blue camp shirts and blue bloomers for all days except Sunday, when a middy blouse and navy shorts were required. For Sunday Services, the matriarch of the camp would read a carefully selected moral-teaching book -- such as The Giving Tree -- while the campers would fidget in the pine grove and surreptitiously create tiny designs in the fallen pine needles.
There were many camp activities, ranging from water-based (canoeing; boating; sailing; and swimming - in the uniform bathing suit, of course) to artsy (drama; music; arts and crafts), to practical (campcraft, which taught leaf-identification, campfire-building, and so forth). Badges could be earned by completing a variety of tasks for each particular activity. Herself was fond of archery and canoeing.
There was rather a regimented schedule, though it was not unpleasantly so. After breakfast and morning meeting on the big rock, campers would attend sessions at various activities. There would then be lunch, followed by a mandatory rest period. Afternoon activity sessions were followed by dinner and evening projects, and then lights-out.
Meals were all held in the large dining lodge. Tables were assigned, with campers rotating to new tables each week in order to get to know girls from cabins other than their own. Everyone was required to try each food, even if it meant requesting a "no-thank-you helping." On Sundays, dessert after dinner was special: mud pies. Everyone would get a vanilla cupcake, and there was chocolate sauce provided. Each girl would carve a small well in the top of her cupcake, and spoon in a bit of the chocolate sauce. It would ooze over the edges like a miniature volcano. It was always delicious.
At the beginning of the summer, each girl would visit the camp nurse to be weighed and measured as part of routine procedure. The nurse would assign certain plump girls to what was quietly known as the diet table. Although there was no overt sign at the diet table, the campers could all tell which table it was, because the same girls sat at it every week instead of rotating to other tables. There was more salad at the diet table. The nurse would also assign certain skinny girls to "milk and cookies." All those slotted for milk and cookies would dutifully tromp back up to the dining lodge after the mandatory rest period, where they would be offered milk and cookies. It appeared that the mission was to fatten these girls up a bit.
The pressure to be thin has always existed, even for prepubescent and barely-pubescent girls. It was a whispered shame to be put at the diet table, and there were always little jabs and behind-the-back criticisms directed at those girls. On the other hand, if one was skinny enough to require additional nourishment during the day -- that was an accomplishment, somehow: the milk and cookies girls were to be envied.
Herself was one of the milk and cookies campers. She remembers being secretly pleased about it. Plus, she did like the milk and cookies.
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All these decades later, Herself thinks back to the milk and cookies and contemplates how things have changed. Gone are the days when she could eat as much as she pleased without thinking about the bodily consequences. The accusations of an eating disorder, hissed
sotto voce by a family member, have long since disappeared (though she can still remember them: "You must have anorexia! I wish you'd get help!") She has turned into what one might call a well-rounded middle-aged woman.
What *should* a woman of her age, height and build look like? She tries to convince herself that her shape is socially acceptable since she is within appropriate weight boundaries according to all the usual charts, and yet she still fears that she is overweight and unpleasant to view. When she looks in the mirror, she is dismayed. She sees lack of discipline and slovenliness in the tightness of her jeans, and berates herself for not having greater self-control with her eating and exercise habits. Interestingly, she does not look at other people the same way: they are who they are, whatever their shape. Nevertheless, she judges herself, and finds herself lacking.
Yesterday, she had her first opportunity to look at the pictures taken at the extended family reunion this summer. Her sole thought was:
Fat girl. Time to sit at the diet table.