Food Etiquette

from Postcards From The Edge

by Carrie Fisher

You know, growing up in L.A., there's such an emphasis on looks. I mean, even in school, I decided what I was gonna wear the next day before I did my homework. There was this girl in my class, Beth Ann Finnerman, whose knee socks always stayed up, and mine seemed to sort of rumple toward the ankles. And I really thought my life would be better if I could do things like have my knee socks stay up...

I've recently found that to keep up my appearance, it has to be through health. I used to think this was corny, but I guess "healthy" equals "attractive" now, you know?

I realize I'm talking a lot, but I don't want you to think I'm nervous. Maybe I am, but I don't want you to think I am. I skipped lunch today, and whenever I do that I get really wanged out. Also, I should tell you that I'm on Pritikin. My cholesterol is way up. I could have steamed vegetables or a little protein, like chicken. I mean, I'm not like a fanatic, I'm just trying out this Pritikin thing. Anyway, I don't go totally over the edge with this, but I do like to know. To be educated in these things, so when I do choose to eat a refined sugar or an oil or an animal fat product, I at least know what I'm doing. That I'm turning my arteries to pizza.

And no eggs, ever. Oh, and I haven't had any caffeine since I started meditating a

week ago.

Actually, I'm a failed anorexic. I have anorexic thinking, but I can't seem to muster the behavior. I could never be bulimic. I could never make myself throw up.

Listen, it's too complicated to order something special. We're at Pasta Hello, I'll just have the lasagna... And a Diet Coke.

Maybe I shouldn't have given the guy who pumped my stomach my phone number, but who cares? My life is over anyway. Besides, what was I supposed to do? He came up to my room and gave me that dumb stuffed animal that looks like a thumb, and there I was lying in bed twelve hours after an overdose. I wasn't feeling very attractive. I'd thrown up scallops and Percodans on him the night before in the emergency room. I thought that it would be impolite for me to refuse to give him my number.

He probably won't call, anyway. No one will ever call.