Hunger Made Me Write This

I have been thinking a lot about food lately.  OK, actually, food is ALL I have been thinking about lately.

I’m in my 40s, and a slow metabolism, gene pool, unhealthy eating and dislike of exercise have caught up with me.  I can no longer ignore the mirror — it’s time to diet.

The breaking point was last week at work.  I was meeting with someone when a late attendee (whom I had never met) walked in, looked around, and asked, “Is this the Weight Watchers meeting?” while making eye contact with me.

While he may have meant it as a joke (A POOR ONE), it was a figurative slap on the fat ass to get my eating habits in order.  So, I joined Weight Watchers.  (That is irony.)

When chubby cheeks were cute

Now I am hungry all the time.  I think about food all the time and my self-esteem isn’t at its highest at the moment.

I worry about my nieces and the images and the pressure that they receive to be skinny in order to be considered beautiful.  Television, movies, magazines, Internet — the list goes on and on.  On a good day, I can almost convince myself that my outside doesn’t decide the kind of person that I am.  On a bad day, I don’t even try to argue that point with myself.

How does a pre-teenage or teenage girl have the ability or maturity to have the same argument?

And as I feel myself getting all outraged about the unrealistic size and beauty expectations placed on women in our society, I feel guilty that I went to see “Magic Mike” this afternoon, a movie that blatantly exploits nice looking men.  Am I being a hypocrite by turning around and gawking at men that don’t look anything like 99% of the men in America?

Screw it.  Those men were hot.  And I think that I burned some calories watching them.  And I didn’t eat any popcorn.  I feel no shame.

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