“What do you think? Does this face make me look fat?”

“Does my new feminism make me look fat?”

“For one never thinks of you alone, Cremuel, but in company, studying the faces of other people, as if you yourself mean to paint them. You make other men think, not “what does he look like?” but “what do I look like?”

“Lance told me his father didn’t think much of him. “He wishes I was better. More better. At everything. I don’t do anything right, you know, Stevie. Nothing.” He said this matter-of-factly. He believed it as truth. Polly told me her father never said anything nice to her, but she kept trying as hard as she could to make him pay her some attention. “He always says, ‘Don’t get fat as your mother has,’ but I don’t think Mom’s fat at all, but I try not to eat much, but he keeps saying it to me. Do you think I’m fat, Stevie? When my hair is messy do you think I look like a stray...”

“Does this dress make my ass look big?" I ask him."You look like a fat cow in high heels," he laughs.Yes, I am married to this idiot.”

“This dress makes me look fat," I told Jasmine as we stood near the back of the crowd and watched the last minute preperations fall into place. She glanced over at me and my efforts to rearrange the folds of my long, gauzy dress."Your pregnant," she stated. "Everything's supposed to make you look fat."I Scowled. "I think the correct reponse was 'No it doesn't.”