Wallflower in BloomBook - 2012
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The sole of one of my sandals caught in the space between two deck planks, and I pitched forward.
Steve Moretti caught my shoulders just before I went over the edge and splashed into the lake. It didn’t come off as a particularly romantic gesture, like catching me in his arms or anything. It was more the way you might use a dolly to tilt a refrigerator until it was upright again.
Over the years I’d become a diet connoisseur. . . . They all worked. And then as soon as I started eating normally again, my weight went right back to where I’d started, plus a few extra pounds. Sometimes I thought that if I’d never started dieting, I’d probably be looking pretty good right now.
I was having a hard time gauging just how insulted I should be. I mean, here was this little person whose thigh was probably the size of my wrist on a good day talking to me about looking like a horse. What did that make me? A hippopotamus?
. . . Tag flashed his pearly whites and gestured eloquently while he told one of his favorite stories. I wondered, as I had a gazillion times before, what it would be like to always be so _on_. It was as if my brother didn’t even exist unless he had an audience.
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