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I found myself able to survive on a daily ration of two lambchops and several grapefruit. This, coupled with a three-miles-each-way trot to the beach every day, whittled away all the adolescent blubber and sculpted a high-breasted, small waisted tiger who could swim hard, listen attentively and -- best of all -- lie supine in the skimpiest bathing suit available, attracting male attention. That fall, our family physician cheerfully prescribed a magic little pill which kept me right on track. The butterfly now had wings of Dexedrine and would fly high.
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