Scorn at Every Size

Me: “I need to lose some weight.”
 
Therapist: “But you get regular checkups and your health is fine? Heart, cholesterol, blood pressure?”
 
Me: “Yes, but I’m MUCH heavier than the recommended highest weight for my height. And I’m not looking at, like, Jamie Lee Jo Bob’s Anorexia Enthusiast Forum — these are weight charts from real medical organizations.”
 
Therapist: “Those charts are based on the same BMI criteria you just told me was ‘horseshit.’ Have you heard of the Health at Every Size movement? That you can weigh more than you ‘should’ but still be perfectly healthy?”
 
Me: “Of course. And I totally believe that.”
 
Therapist: “OK, so…you JUST said your health is fine.”
 
Me: “But it’s NOT. I have a gut like a 55-year-old man with a lifelong Budweiser habit.”
 
Therapist: “I agree you should exercise more often, but if you do, and you eat a balanced diet, what if this is genetically just the way your body is supposed to be?”
 
Me: “It’s not.”
 
Therapist: “So you’re saying you support the idea of ‘health at every size’ for everyone except yourself?”
 
Me: “…Yes, that’s correct.”
 
She doesn’t want me to do Whole30, because apparently you, like, need carbs to live or something? But I’m doing it, so… we’ve reached an impasse. And by “impasse,” I mean, “thing I’m not telling my therapist.”

Pizza cures PMS. That’s science, right?

One side of brain: “No, we’re trying not to eat our feelings, remember? We’re trying to eat better and practice healthier coping mechanisms. We are stronger than food.”

Other side of brain: “Fuck you, we’re REALLY not. I demand six Egg McMuffins and a few shots of whatever will sedate me. Literally, whatEVER: Wine? Prozac? Cough syrup? Horse tranqs? BRING IT.”

Buffalo mozzarella sticks, guys. Do you know what that is? It’s mozzarella sticks, doused in buffalo sauce, AND THEN YOU DIP THEM IN BLUE CHEESE. It is sexy, cheese-on-cheese action. It is fucking vile…and also quite possibly the best thing in the world. A nice man would deliver it to my door — along with a pizza — for a nominal fee, because America is AMAZING.

P.S. I will obviously also need a cake, because “It says right here, it is a dessert wine.”

Cool Girl’s guide to holiday tEXting

It’s probably a good, healthy step this long after a breakup to not wish each other Merry Christmas, not out of anger or spite, but because you’re busy living your lives.

I mean, unless you’re me, and will sit here stewing about it at the end of the day but not saying it first because you sent the last text yesterday, and you have too much pride to say it first because remember you said “Happy Thanksgiving” first?

Ahem. Not that that’s happening… Because that would be lunacy.

My wine and I are going to bed.