"Ok," I said to my daughter as she bent over her afternoon bowl of rice. "What's going on with you and your friend J.?" J. is the leader of a group of third-graders at her camp--a position Lucy herself occupied the previous summer. Now _ , and every day at snack time, she tells me all about it, while I offer up the unhelpful advice all summer long. "She's fond of giving orders," Lucy complained. "She's fat," Lucy mumbled to the bowl "We are going upstairs," I said, my voice cold, "We are going to discuss this." And up we went. I'd spent the nine years since her birth getting ready for this day, the day we'd have to have the conversation about this horrible word. I knew exactly what to say to the girl on the receiving end of the teasing ,but in all of my imaginings, it never once occurred to me that my daughter would be the one who used the F wordFat. My daughter sat on her bed, and I sat beside her. "How would you feel if someone made fun of you for something that wasn't your fault?" I began. "She could stop eating so much," Lucy mumbled, mouthing the simple advice a thousand doctors and well-meaning friends and relatives have given overweight women for years. "It's not always that easy," I said. "Everyone's different in terms of how they treat food" Lucy looked at me, waiting for me to go on. I opened my mouth, then closed it. Should I tell her that, in teasing a woman's weight, she's joined the long, proud tradition of critics who go after any woman with whom they disagree by starting with "you're ugly" and ending with "no man would want you and there must be something wrong with any man who does"?Should I tell her I didn't cry when someone posted my picture and commented, "I'm sorry, but aren't authors who write books marketed to young women supposed to be pretty?" Does she need to know, now, that life isn't fair? I feel her eyes on me,waiting for an answer I don't have. Words are my tools.Stories are my job.It's possible she'll remember what I say forever, and I have no idea what to say. So I tell her the only thing I can come up with that is absolutely true.I say to my daughter, "I love you, and there is nothing you could ever do to make me not love you. But I'm disappointed in you right now. There are plenty of reasons for not liking someone. What she looks like isn't one of them." Lucy nods, tears on her cheeks."I won't say that again,"she tells me,and I pull her close, pressing my nose against her hair. We are both quiet, and I don't know if I have said the right thing. So as we sit there together, shoulder to shoulder, I pray for her to be smart.I pray for her to be strong. I pray for her to find friends,work she loves, a partner who loves her, and for the world not to deprive her of the things that make her who she is,for her life to be easy, and for her to have the strength to handle it when it's not. And still, always,I pray that she will never struggle as I've struggled, that weight will never be her cross to bear. She may not be able to use the word in our home, but I can use it in my head. I pray that she will never get fat. It can be inferred from the passage that  _  .
the author is a fat but good-looking woman the author earns a living by writing stories the author will stop loving her daughter for what she said the author's daughter agreed with her from.the very beginning
Question: "Ok," I said to my daughter as she bent over her afternoon bowl of rice. "What's going on with you and your friend J.?" J. is the leader of a group of third-graders at her camp--a position Lucy herself occupied the previous summer. Now _ , and every day at snack time, she tells me all about it, while I offer up the unhelpful advice all summer long. "She's fond of giving orders," Lucy complained. "She's fat," Lucy mumbled to the bowl "We are going upstairs," I said, my voice cold, "We are going to discuss this." And up we went. I'd spent the nine years since her birth getting ready for this day, the day we'd have to have the conversation about this horrible word. I knew exactly what to say to the girl on the receiving end of the teasing ,but in all of my imaginings, it never once occurred to me that my daughter would be the one who used the F wordFat. My daughter sat on her bed, and I sat beside her. "How would you feel if someone made fun of you for something that wasn't your fault?" I began. "She could stop eating so much," Lucy mumbled, mouthing the simple advice a thousand doctors and well-meaning friends and relatives have given overweight women for years. "It's not always that easy," I said. "Everyone's different in terms of how they treat food" Lucy looked at me, waiting for me to go on. I opened my mouth, then closed it. Should I tell her that, in teasing a woman's weight, she's joined the long, proud tradition of critics who go after any woman with whom they disagree by starting with "you're ugly" and ending with "no man would want you and there must be something wrong with any man who does"?Should I tell her I didn't cry when someone posted my picture and commented, "I'm sorry, but aren't authors who write books marketed to young women supposed to be pretty?" Does she need to know, now, that life isn't fair? I feel her eyes on me,waiting for an answer I don't have. Words are my tools.Stories are my job.It's possible she'll remember what I say forever, and I have no idea what to say. So I tell her the only thing I can come up with that is absolutely true.I say to my daughter, "I love you, and there is nothing you could ever do to make me not love you. But I'm disappointed in you right now. There are plenty of reasons for not liking someone. What she looks like isn't one of them." Lucy nods, tears on her cheeks."I won't say that again,"she tells me,and I pull her close, pressing my nose against her hair. We are both quiet, and I don't know if I have said the right thing. So as we sit there together, shoulder to shoulder, I pray for her to be smart.I pray for her to be strong. I pray for her to find friends,work she loves, a partner who loves her, and for the world not to deprive her of the things that make her who she is,for her life to be easy, and for her to have the strength to handle it when it's not. And still, always,I pray that she will never struggle as I've struggled, that weight will never be her cross to bear. She may not be able to use the word in our home, but I can use it in my head. I pray that she will never get fat. It can be inferred from the passage that  _  .
A. the author is a fat but good-looking woman
B. the author earns a living by writing stories
C. the author will stop loving her daughter for what she said
D. the author's daughter agreed with her from.the very beginning
Answer: