A is for Ass

H is for hell and heaven

The first diet was made of multicolored cards labeled with “starch” or “fruit” or “meat.” If I had a piece of fruit, I moved a card over. When all the cards were gone, I had to stop eating. My mom told me a story of a family who put locks and chains on their pantry and cupboards, so the kids couldn’t eat. I was worried, so I measured success by the number of cards still left to eat at the end of the day. The next diet was by Richard Simmons. Yes folks, I did Dancing to the Oldies. I watched videos about people getting skinny and crying. I cried. Wait, I bawled. I wanted to be that skinny person. I went through diets where I kept the ice cream in the fridge. I wouldn’t crave it if I could have it at any time, right? Wrong. Diets where I systematically eliminated anything fattening from my fridge, pantry, and cupboards. I soon went nuts. Binged and well, didn’t purge. Next came Weight Watchers. Fail, repeat, fail, repeat. South Beach, fail, repeat, binging and purging, fail, no repeat (eating is my talent – not vomiting) Atkins, fail, repeat, liquid diet, fail, fail fail. If Oprah was a diet, I was on it.

Infatuation with the fat inside me incites inner inferiority and exterior imitation leads to illumination of my imperfections, illumination of imperfections, illumination of my imperfections.

Enter super-expensive food store shortly after the New Year. Resolution #1: Don’t eat so much. Buy ice cream determined to only eat it once a week. Resolution #2: Start exercising. Walk up and down isles twice. Resolution #3: Fuck it. Wait. This is too Bridget Jones.

JY and I go for Ben and Jerry’s at 9:45 on a Sunday night. We pass by a group of girls: skinny and dressed to the nines in the latest “I just left the gym” look, which is at odds with the meticulously applied make-up. As they discuss how much they ate over the holidays, I overhear Brunette #2 remark, “I’m soooo not eating.” I look at JY, smirk, and say, “I’m sooooo not eating.” He grabs me, hugs me, and gives me big-fabulous kiss. The girls stare; J doesn’t look like a guy who would kiss a fat girl.

posted by CV @ 7:48 PM