Friday, January 07, 2005


We’ve all been there. You’re in a trial room at the mall, trying to slip in to a pair of superfine jeans. And you get stuck. Not it in the dressing room, but in the jeans. Mid-thigh, the denim clings to your cellulite in an anything but loving way, and refuses to budge. Before you know it, you can hear sirens and emergency services are doing their best to get you out.

Every time this has happened to me (pick a number between 1 and 100) I’ve vowed to do something about the extra pounds. And I’d like to think that I’ve tried. From drinking hot lime juice first thing in the morning (in the hope that it would burn my internal fat into oblivion), to humiliating experiences involving yellow tights and aerobics to the infamous Gestapo torture secret - Atkins.

Now I’m not overweight or anything. I’ve never been on Oprah telling the world how I use food as a substitute for my mother, been wait-listed for a gastric-bypass or considered stopping cheese as a dietary staple. I’m something much worse than that. I am pleasantly plump.

As a child, strangers would come up to me and pinch my cheeks (in an entirely appropriate way), I was cast as bunny rabbits in school plays and all was well. And when I hit puberty what was once cute caused an aunt to remark that my hair was getting thinner but I was getting fatter.

School was a nightmare with a uniform that on the best of days looked like a gunny bag used to transport organic produce. And college was a little better, where I received the ‘no shirts that end above your backside’ rule with a prayer of thanks.

I know what you’re all thinking. Why so much fuss over being plump. And why is it worse than being overweight. Because when you’re thin… do you really need to ask – life is made. And when you’re fat people just assume you have a thyroid problem. However the pleasantly plump are seen as fence sitters. And nobody likes fence sitters.

My current attempt at weight loss is the General Motors diet. It’s day four and I wonder how I’ve made it this far. After 3 days of eating raw fruits, vegetables and drinking enough water to count the 356 tiles in my bathroom, I had hoped that today would be easier. It is. But only if you’re a member of the simian race. Allow me to quote the diet sheet.

Day Four Bananas and milk. Today you will eat as many as eight bananas and drink three glasses of milk. This will be combined with the special soup which may be eaten in limited quantities.

Based on previous dalliances with the diet, I assure you the special soup is as special as a man with a hairy back.

So why am I putting myself through this torture? Because. I’m tired of walking down the street looking at thin women and hoping they fall in to a ditch. And of considering pregnancy as a good excuse to be fat. And most of all, it’s because all the fence sitting has given me a sore rear-end. It’s time to jump down, and I know which side I want to be on.

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