After Watching "The Long Road Home" Never again will I think that thin is synonymous with beautiful after seeing the skeletal survivors a bony model with her microbiotic diet seems a mockery. At home I undress, thankful for the first time that my thighs brush against each other, that my ass droops a little bit, and my breasts bounce as I rock upon my heels. I’m glad I have no visible cheekbones, that my eyes rest easily in their sockets, not protruding with desperation and an unfillable hunger. For dinner I cook a hamburger, fried and dripping. I don’t pat the grease off with a napkin, the way the health experts say you should, but pour it straight onto a kaiser roll and top it with thick cheddar. For dessert I mix brownies, beat eggs, oil, and milk into a mix. I eat the batter with a spoon, then dip my fingers in, lick them, let the batter drip out of the corner of my mouth and down my chin. I don’t want to be hungry ever again. Let the beautiful women have their rice cakes, their empty salads. Always now I want, I need to be full.