In the grocery store, my second year of college. I’m standing in the checkout lane, a cart full of “necessities” – a new shower curtain liner, shaving cream, Special K. I scan the rack displaying magazines and gum, flip through the latest issue of Glamour.
A woman with my grandmother’s earrings waits in line behind me, tsk-tsking at the cover I’m holding.
Smoother thighs? Better breasts? What are we, chickens?
I laugh in solidarity, put the magazine back on the shelf.
Today, I realize I haven’t picked up another one since.