Italian Mother Syndrome, more commonly known as IMS. To my knowledge, I am one of the only young women out there afflicted with this rare, untreatable disease.
I was diagnosed with IMS as early
as high school. Symptoms included doorway-wide hips, a moustache like my
mother's, and my persistent clarion call of "Eat something!" My
friends started to suspect something was amiss when I kept getting cast
as mothers, old women, and tough broads in school theatrical
productions. Thank God they were paying attention -- I thought all young
women with any sense acted this way. Turns out I was wrong.
the years since, I've slowly come to accept my situation. True, I worry
about everything and everybody constantly. I fawn over every baby that
crosses my lap. I prepare fresh, healthy food for anyone whose
stomach so much as gurgles. I adore hugging people and then
smacking them. I will never be
a size 2.
But when all is said and done, IMS isn't
such a bad thing to have. It's made me passionate, earthy, loving, and
dedicated. Plus, nobody's complained about the free meals and hugs. I'll