I found this book on the floor of Mack’s car, and like most things found in friend’s cars I decided to MAKE IT MINE. Apparently when she was in high school this was THE diet book, which is to say, when you go to high school in LA, there is more than one diet book. I don’t think diet books were a thing in NC high school, like at all. It was more like, INTERMITTENTLY CONSUME AS MANY CLOVE CIGARETTES AND WENDY’S FRIED CHICKEN SANDWICHES AS HUMANLY POSSIBLE. But I’m giving this one a read in my adult life. The charming french writer, who also runs Veuve Cliquot Champagne, claims that American women get and stay fat because they eat standing up, exercise manically without intention, and deny themselves their pleasures so aggressively that they end up face deep in a bowl of cake batter. French women, comparably, indulge their pleasures, never over do it, don’t work out, but instead walk and take in the world, eat bread and cheese and wine mindfully. American women talk and think obsessively about weight loss, while French women have more brain space and conversation space to actually engage in ideas OKAY WE GET IT, THE FRENCH, YOU’RE BETTER THAN US. But as much as I want to deep fry this woman and dip her in ranch as she tells me about her whimsical childhood filled with loose teas and baguettes, I do think there’s value to her theory. A lot. I want more space in my brain. I want mornings gazing out the window and bread with dinner. I want pleasure and pinot noir and tiny pats of butter. JE VEUX ETRE FRANCAIS. Or Frances. I would also settle for just being Frances.