“When you’re fat, it doesn’t matter what you wear,” Ginny said. “Nothing’s going to cover up your blubber.” She’d worn tight-fitting clothing and loose-fitting clothing, blacks and browns, stripes and plaids. That July morning, never to be forgotten, she walked through the town square, “buck naked” as Ralph Wyatt told it. She felt the sun on each cell of her body and gloried in the sweat glistening on her arms. She hadn’t gone barefoot since she was a girl. Men’s eyes followed her as if she were a beauty queen, so she waved with a gentle twist of her wrist.