Part memoir, part postmodern feminist rant, this award-winning British TV critic and celebrity writer brings her ingeniously funny views to the States. Moran's journey into womanhood begins on her 13th birthday when boys throw rocks at her 182-pound body, and her only friend, her sister Caz, hands her a homemade card reminding her to please turn 18 or die soon so Caz can inherit her bedroom. Always resourceful—as the eldest of eight children from Wolverhampton—the author embarrasses herself often enough to become an authority on how to masturbate; name one's breasts; and forgo a Brazilian bikini wax. She doesn't politicize feminism; she humanizes it. Everyone, she writes, is automatically an F-word if they own a vagina and want "to be in charge of it." Empowering women is as easy as saying—without reservation—the word "fat" and filling our handbags with necessities like a safety pin, biscuit, and "something that can absorb huge amounts of liquid." Beneath the laugh-out-loud humor is genuine insight about the blessings of having—or not having—children. With brutal honesty, she explains why she chose to have an abortion after birthing two healthy daughters with her longtime husband, Pete. Her story is as touching as it is timely. In her brilliant, original voice, Moran successfully entertains and enlightens her audience with hard-won wisdom and wit. (May)