Having Dieted for 34 Years . . .

The subject of today’s rant is dieting. I want everyone to stop. I don’t mean throw in the towel, buy five cans of Pringles, and eat until your tongue swells. I mean stop dieting. You know, that thing you’ve been doing since you were twelve? With no success? Except for those six months before your wedding and that time when you caught sight of yourself in a plate glass window and had a dissociative episode? No one is happy on a diet, so knock it off. Stop buying magazines that make you miserable. Stop thinking that life would be great if you were only a size two. There is no good reason to diet. Dieting is sick and twisted and wrong. Dieting was invented by The Man to keep you down. Fuck The Man.

“But Sister Joan,” you say, “I need to lose weight. My skin’s bad, my hair’s bad, I feel bad. My ass looks like a satellite photo of Australia.”

My friends, let us separate the wheat from the chaff. I don’t care about your ass. Your ass size is relative. There are three good reasons to lose weight, and only three: blood sugar, blood pressure, and serum cholesterol. You should lose enough weight to put you within normal range for your age. You should lose enough weight so that you can climb two flights of stairs without getting winded. You should lose enough weight to be healthy. Then stop. Stop right there. Get a great haircut and buy some new clothes. Be the best you that you can be.

If you’re still worried about your ass after that, I suggest you step back and put things in perspective. The sexiest thing on earth is living as fully as possible for as long as possible. The rest is bullshit.

One response to “Having Dieted for 34 Years . . .

  1. Funniest take on that horror called dieting I’ve read ever.

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