I’m a book lover and a book hoarder. On my last day of school, I carted twelve very overdue books back to the University library. The librarian looked up at me quizzically probably wondering where the last three were. They’re here with me in Berlin. I plan on returning them in May – my own graduation present to the University.
Recently, I re-evaluated my loyalty to les livres. Carting books from city to city was hurting my back as well as thwarting my luggage weight requirements. Was it worth the read?
So I did the unthinkable and purchased a kindle. I love books - the feel and smell of them and found it hard to reckon with my kindle purchase. Would it be the same? Probably not, but one cannot always have their cake and eat it, too. But just like we need to eat, we also need to read.
The kindle finally arrived and I quickly began downloading books. My first purchase was Vintage Did ion. I need Joan’s ineffable style and meter to remind me why writing matters, as well as how much work, I myself, have to do.
My second purchase was Secret Ingredients: The New Yorker Book of Food and Drink. Now, if you love food writing –sharp, witty, unforgettable food writing, this is your cup of tea. It is a fabulous read spanning from restaurant reviews, portraitures, to short story fiction about ego and taste. It’s delightful.
So in the spirit of food and reading, I have decided to share. Ogden Nash nails this one – women, food, and body image. Big gulp. Dainty bite.
Enjoy.
CURL UP AND DIET
Ogden Nash
Some ladies smoke too much and some ladies drink too much and some ladies pray too much, But all ladies think that they weight too much. They may be as slender as a sylph or a dryad, But just let them get on the scales and they embark on a doleful jeremiad;
No matter how low the figure the needle happens to touch, they always claim it is a least five pounds too much, No matter how underfed to you a lady’s anatomy may seemeth,
She describes herself as a Leviathan or Behemoth
To the world she may appear slinky and feline but she inspects herself in the mirror and cries,
Oh I look like a sea cow or a manatee,
And if you say, No, my dears she says you are just lying to make her feel better and if you say, yes, my dear, you injure her vanatee,
And in any case her eyes flow like faucets,
And she goes out and buys some new caucets.
Once upon a time there was a girl more beautiful and witty charming than tongue can tell,
And she is now dangerous raving maniac in a padded cell,
And first indication her friends and relatives had that she was mentally overwrought
Was only day when she said, I weigh a hundred and twenty seven, which is exactly what I ought.
Oh, often am I haunted
By the thought that somebody might some day discover a diet that would let ladies reduce just as they wanted,
Because wonder if there is a woman in the world strong –minded enough to shed ten pounds or twenty,
And say, there now, that’s plenty;
And I fear me one ten-pound less would only arose the craving for another,
So it wouldn’t do any good for ladies to get their ambition and look like somebody’ fourteen-year old brother,
Because having accomplished this with ease,
They would next want to look like somebody’s fourteen-year-old brother in the final stages of some obscure disease,
And the more success you have the more you want to get rid of it,
So then their goal would be too look like somebody’s fourteen-year-old brother's ghost, or rather not the ghost itself, which is fairly solid, but a silhouette of it,
So I think it is very nice for ladies to be lithe and lissome,
But not so much so that you cut yourself if you happen to embrace or kissome.
1935, The New Yorker