Pears are one of my favorite fruits. My grandparents often bought the variety that were rough skinned and yellow, and on the winter Saturdays when my grandfather cared for my sister and I when we were kids while our parents worked, he always chopped one or two up for us. I don't eat pears often today because, unlike my grandfather, I never pick out good ones and I hate cutting them because of their uneven shape. I've been thinking about pears a lot lately because I am increasingly shaped like one. I'm narrow on top and round on the bottom, with arms and legs supporting my fruit-like torso, a little like the Ms. Pearhead version of Mr. Potatohead except that my face is on my head, which sits atop the pear, rather than on my chest. My pear figure wasn't obvious until I had my breast reduction in December 1998, which revealed that I actually had a small frame up top. Then it wasn't a problem, as I was a proportional pear.

Lately, however, the round bottom portion has grown larger while the narrow top has stayed nearly unchanged. There's nothing so terrible about this except that I can't fit into any of dresses (whether they are ones I already one or ones that I want to acquire) and every time I get dressed, I feel like I'm staring at a funhouse mirror. Everything looks one way above and below my midsection, but the midsection itself is ginormous.

Gah. I hate it. Fat, juicy pears in Harry & David boxes are excellent. I loved the pears my grandfather served me. Bulging pears in skirts and pants are gifts that I would rather not have, even with my affection for the fruit.

/end of self-pitying post.

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