Diet Schmiet

3 May

I don’t know about you guys, but I’m pretty conscious of my weight. I work out and try to eat healthy, and most days I manage to cram in enough fruits and veggies to choke a rabbit. Over the years I’ve made little concessions to keep up with my aging metabolism; smaller portions, less sugar, diet tonic with my vodka. You get the idea.

I’ve even checked out the new food pyramid. And while I’d debate the fact that apple pie goes at the skinny tip of the “fruit” section, as suggested here, The Food Guide Pyramid (what’s next? Ketchup at the top of the vegetables?) I do like it better than the old one, which was based completely on starches and grains.

I especially like the graphic, with the exercising stick figure

taking the steps two at a time. You’d think it would be hard to balance on those pointed feet, especially with no torso, but what do I know? So I’m informed, and I make an effort. But it gets tedious. And even with all this, I could still lose 5 or 10 pounds. Catch me on the right day and I might even say it’s 15. While I don’t obsess about it, it’s always there, flitting around the back of my head like an annoying little gnat.

Pie and ice cream? Tisk tisk. Did you plan on saving any of those chips for the rest of us or were you just going to inhale them like a glossy-eyed junkie?

See what I mean?

So when I saw an article in last Tuesday’s Wall Street Journal: Why Carrying an Extra 10 Pounds Might Not Hurt – it made my day. It gets better. Not only is being slightly overweight okay now, but it might even be better for you. That’s what I’m talkin’ about. Take that Miss I Can Eat Anything I Want and Still Look Like Megan Fox.

Apparently being a little fluffy can actually keep osteoporosis at bay and, are you ready? Make you look younger. Hear that ladies? Toss those expensive face creams and grab the Haagen-Dazs. Exactly. I can hear spoons clattering out of silver wear drawers all over the country.

Maybe it was a tragic misprint, or maybe a mischievous intern with a penchant for chubby ladies got their hands on the galleys that day. I don’t know. And I don’t care. I like it.

So let’s give it up for science (right now, before they change their minds) for confirming what we’ve always known: that looking like a supermodel really isn’t the greatest thing since sliced bread (shut up, so all 5 ft. of me is bitter) and that life is just a little sweeter when every night ends in chocolate.

Come on, who wants to have chiseled abs and an ass you could play quarters on (does anyone even play quarters anymore?) when you could have a heaping bowl of pasta or a 32 pack of chicken nuggets instead?

Life is all about choices. It’s nice to have science finally backing mine.  And right now those gloriously greasy, texturally mysterious fried pieces of debauchery from that clown Ronald sound pretty delicious. Want some too? Cool. I’ll buy if you’ll fly, ‘cause right now I’m kind of in the middle of this extra large pepperoni pizza…


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