All the while, I kept up the food compulsion and my dating celibacy.
One day, the stove in my studio kitchen wasn’t working right. I smelled gas. I called
the gas company and asked for someone to check the gas line for a possible leak. A
repairman arrived a couple hours later, and I took him into the small kitchen adjacent to
the workroom. When I was working on a project, I didn’t bother with makeup and
usually wore my customary artist’s smock, which covered a lot of sins. I was frumpy. I
knew it. The girl in the mirror reminded me of that every morning. But I didn’t care.
The repairman kept looking at me from the sides of his eyes, while he asked
questions about the stove and gas smell, and I felt my skin crawl.
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