On being beautiful.

When I was little I didn't think about being beautiful. I think a lot of kids just let that stuff go by- not so much anymore, maybe. I know when my little sister was eight years old she already hated her body enough that every day she'd run up and down the stairs to try and lose weight. But I didn't. I hoped, vaguely, that I was "pretty," although I didn't know exactly what the word meant, and sometimes my mother told me I was, and I'd smile and go back to watching cartoons and reading The Phantom Tollbooth.

( Things changed, of course. )