And I say this as one who has looked in the mirror and saw someone roughly approaching the circumference of Chicago staring back at her.
1. Offer to split a meal with your friend—and sneakily take the bigger portion for yourself.
2. Schedule in exercise, buy cute exercise clothes and an expensive gym membership—and then don’t go (see Tuesday’s post).
3. Have a salad and water for dinner—and brownies and ice cream straight out of the container for dessert.
4. Buy loads of healthy veggies for yourself and Cheetos, frozen pizza, and hamburgers “for the husband and kids”–even though you’re single and childless.
5. Diligently measure out the appropriate serving size of the dinner ingredients—then effectively double it when you discover you’re still hungry afterwards.
6. Buy skinny jeans to motivate yourself—then throw them out 6 months later when you have to make room for your fat jeans.
7. Drink a margarita instead of dinner—and then during the 4th one down the line, tell yourself calories don’t matter if you’re drunk. Because by then, you’re incapable of counting them even if you wanted to.
8. Send hate at all the skinny bitches you see—and then congratulate yourself for at least being thinner than that one woman over there.
9. Congratulate yourself when you still fit in your jeans—and cut the seams to make more room when you don’t.
10. Only allow pictures of yourself from the neck up. This allows for easy photo manipulation to paste your head on supermodel’s bodies and saves you the trouble of burning everything else.
Why is it that when you go to a restaurant, it is now nigh impossible to get an average, run-of-the-mill, plain old salad? It’s like how a plain old cup o’ joe has now become a mocha cappa-frappaccino latte, all soy, hold the whip. It used to be you could always count on there being the staple garden salad. But now it seems the best you can do is maybe a caesar salad, dressing on the side. Everything else is slathered with eggs, chicken, tofu, shrimp or fish, dried fruit, nuts and cheese. Nuts and cheese! On everything! With who-knows-what-kind-of-caloric-content dressing. Why do restaurants feel the need to truss up salads like Little Miss Sunshine contestants?
I mean seriously, who really voluntarily chooses to eat a salad as the main course when there are all manner of amiable delights elsewhere on the menu? Nobody. That’s right. Nobody. We only eat salads as a vague attempt at healthy eating. Or to make it look to our dinner companions as though we are trim consumers, when really we go home and nosh ice cream straight from the carton. And wonder how the entire carton of Oreos or bag of Doritos disappeared in one sitting.
But the more restaurants insist upon adding feta, bacon bits and croutons to their salads, the less we can delude ourselves that we’re making the smart eating choice. (Or worse, stinky cheese like bleu and gorgonzola. My apologies to the ‘zola fans…but bleah. I’ll take goat cheese any day of the week, but you won’t catch me within a mile of moldy cheese.) Check out the menu at Quizno’s and you’ll quickly discover some of the salads are heavier in calories and fat than the sandwiches. If that’s the case, give me the fucking sandwich.
It shouldn’t be so hard to find the healthy choices on a menu. And I reserve my right to eat a salad without any stinky cheese.