by Kathy Davis
One of my very first memories is of my second birthday party in the backyard of my grandparent's home. I felt so special, not fully understanding why. My mother dressed me in a fancy short, short organza polka dot dress that revealed my chunky Michelin tire thighs. After all, I was only turning two, and if there is any time in one's life that being fat is permissible, it's when you are two years old.
Anyway, my mother placed me on a garden table for a photo session next to my very fancy white birthday cake decorated with countless waxy sugar roses. With joyous abandon my little fat legs were flailing about. One of my feet kicked through the sumptuous white birthday cake,smashing it to blitherings. It was hardly my desire to be destructive, it's just that the visual treat of my big white sugary birthday cake made my limbs kick involuntarily with pleasure!
A flurry of displeasure ensued. I did not quite understand the response that I illicited.
Many decades later, my delight is just as intense when people I cook for love what I prepare. However, I have since learned to control my limbs and my thighs have not resembled the Michelin tire guy's since.