Babe Hope - Pretty Plus: How to Look Sexy, Sensational, and Successful, No Matter What You Weigh

Pretty
Plus

Copyright 2010 by Babe Hope

2nd printing

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever, including electronic, mechanical or any information storage or retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted in the 1976 Copyright Act or in writing from the publisher.

Requests for permission should be addressed to:

New Horizon Press

P.O. Box 669

Far Hills, NJ 07931

Hope, Babe

Pretty Plus: How to Look Sexy, Sensational and Successful No Matter

What You Weigh

Cover design: Wendy Bass

Interior design: Susan M. Sanderson

Illustrations: April Dukes

Library of Congress Control Number: 2009927402

ISBN-13 (eBook): 978-0-88282-423-9

New Horizon Press

Manufactured in the U.S.A.

2014 2013 2012 2011 / 5 4 3 2

For my big sisters: Turn the pity party
into a pretty party and never look back.

This book is based on the authors research and experience. The authors recommendations of brands, beauty treatments and clothing choices are completely her personal opinions. Some individuals identities and names have been changed in order to protect privacy. Some characters are composites.

Clothes are never a frivolity: they always mean something.

~James Laver

T he first of three epiphanies occurred about ten years ago when my husband, our five-year-old son and I were spending our winter vacation at a resort in Palm Beach, Florida. I had invited my friend, Terri, and her mom, with whom she was vacationing in a town nearby, to join me for lunch. We sat overlooking the azure blue ocean and chatting over our delicious lobster salads and tropical ice teas, served in the bent, blown green glasses that the restaurant is famous forvery chic! On the beach, my handsome husband, tan, tall, with silver hair, walked by holding the hand of our young son. Pointing, Terri said to her mom, There are Babes boys. Her mom glanced in their direction and then looked back at me, her hostessa large, Rubenesque womanand asked in a voice loud enough for other diners to hear, How did a slob like you ever land him? Shocked, wounded, but not down for the count, I took a deep breath, but said unconvincingly, I dont think Im a slob and obviously, he doesnt think so either. We finished our lunch rather quietly. I charged the one hundred dollar lunch tab to my hotel room, they thanked me for lunch and I thanked them for being my guests.

. Over the last ten years I have become an expert at making plus size women as attractive and stylish as their diminutive counterparts.

An outsider might ask, Why didnt you just go on a diet, lose weight and get this albatross off your back? Honestly, if I could have, I would have years ago. But Ive taken inspiration from the great UCLA Basketball Coach, John Wooden: Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do.

I weighed ten pounds six ounces when I was born. I was the second heaviest baby in the large hospital. One of my lungs didnt open, so the doctors put me in an incubator. The story goes that I was red, fat, bald and had my right arm in a sling. I took up every square inch of the life-saving cubicle, as they were usually reserved for tiny premature babies. Visitors stood outside the nursery, pointed at me and laughed. I heard this story for as long as I can remember. It was usually told in a jovial way, because I ended up healthy.

We lived in Brooklyn, New York, and it was the custom of the time for mothers and children to go upstate to the Catskill Mountains for the summer. So my mother, seven months pregnant, my nana (my maternal grandmother), my fathers teenage sister, Abby, and I took a bungalow in the country. Things went terribly wrong for my nave, young mom. She was sickly all summer and then lost forty pounds in a two-week period. Nana and Aunt Abby begged her to go to a doctor in the Catskills, but she refused. Finally, my mom became incoherent. Abby telephoned my dad to explain the gravity of the situation. My dad dispatched a hack (a taxi cab driver from the city, more than two hours away) to rescue her, but it was too late. By the time she and Abby were in the cab heading for the city, my mother was deliriousshe kept insisting that Abby give her a drink of water from her pocketbook (this was before bottled water was commonplace).

At the hospital, the doctors confirmed my mother was a gestational diabetic. Within two hours of arriving, she slipped into a diabetic coma. Two days later she died at the age of twenty-two; I was a year and a half old. Years later, Abby explained to me that the reason my mother would not go to see a doctor in the country was that she was too ashamed of her body to get undressed in front of a doctor who was a stranger.

I dont remember my mother, but I am like her in many ways. There is a picture of my mom and dad on their honeymoon that reveals a bond between us that is hard to ignore. The couple is clad in bathing suits and, although their bodies are disguised by a huge heart of flowers, it is still apparent that she and I have the same figure. Further, not for the faint of heart, the story goes that my mom loved to eat lamb chop fat. I do, too. Most people are disgusted by it. She died when I was probably too young to have learned that behavior.

My dad was only twenty-two years old when my mother died and was struggling to cope, so for a while I lived with my maternal grandparents. They were older, so it was hard for them to keep up with a child. Often, I cried through the night, because I missed my mother. Nana was a stickler for cleanliness and on a hot night I remember her sweating as she bathed meher neck and thick, dark hair wet, probably the way it was on that fated night she decided she had had enough. She called my father to come get me. He was not around. She called my fathers parents to come. My paternal grandfather was not around either. So my grandmother called my uncle, who came for me in the middle of the night and took me to his apartment. He carried me and I held on to him. The next morning for breakfast, my aunt made me two scrambled eggs and two pieces of toast with butter and strawberry jelly and a large glass of chocolate milk.

One constant for me wasyou guessed itfood. When I was four, my paternal grandmother bragged that I could eat a whole chicken by myself. Was it heredity or learned behavior? I really dont know.

During my first summer home from college, I worked at my familys successful car dealership in upstate New York. After I reported to work on the first day, my dad took me aside and said, The other employees are gloating, because you have everything going for you: youre beautiful, smart and rich and yet youre FAT.

The dye was cast. Food became very important to me. I used food as a punctuation mark for everything: celebration, sorrow, boredom and friendship. Food became friend, elixir and anesthesia all wrapped into one. Legal and relatively safe, food was a bargain at any price. So it is no surprise that I have struggled with weight all my life.

For many years, I recalled what I believed to be my finest moment, which occurred during college. I observed an eighteen-day period of fasting, having nothing to eat or drink but two quarts of water daily. I lost twenty-two pounds during that period. I was ecstatic. I shopped. I bought. I really looked terrific. Until, gradually, I gained all of the weight back (and got very sick as well).

One particularly painful dating experience occurred when I was dating a guy who was a yuppie type. He was one of four friends who were very close and considered themselves so cool. We dated for almost a year. In my family, New Years Eve is pretty important, and so, having a date for that night is very important as well. The four couples had big plans to spend one New Years Eve together at a rather exciting nightspot. As I prepared for the big night, I tried to find a fantastic outfit but could not. I just felt heavy, unattractive and, frankly, just not as good as the other girls. I called my boyfriend a few nights before New Years Eve and made some lame excuse indicating I couldnt keep our plans. He responded, Dont worry; your chair wont be empty. It appeared that we both shared the same opinion of my worth. Then I lied to my father. I just couldnt bear to tell him I would be alone on New Years Eve. I mustered the courage to leave my apartment and went to a movie theater. When the movie was over, I walked over to a caf and ordered food to goa big piece of quiche followed by an clair. I returned to my apartment to eat my pain away. Trust me, that wasnt the only evening of its kind.