It’s hard when you don’t like someone’s deeply personal memoir, but I didn’t. The front cover of this book made it seem like it was about snacks and... er... joy. The back cover makes it more clear that it’s about the author’s lifelong struggle with some sort of disordered eating, an unhelpful bad relationship with a foodie who is always pressuring her to be different from how she is, and a confusing relationship with both her parents and her body. A lot of it was told in a roundabout non-linear style so I wasn’t even sure what was going on a lot of the time. It starts off talking about her doing some form of burlesque which seems like it might be fun, but that’s not revisited until the last few pages of the book. The author thanks her therapists among other people in the acknowledgments at the end, but it’s not really clear how she’s gotten to the place where she is and therapy isn’t mentioned at all in the course of the book (despite me the reader thinking "This person should try therapy").