"You're So Vain"...Celebrating Physical Changes - Diet Is a 4 Letter Word

Georgia Richardson – Queen Jaw Jaw is The Queen of Experiences and author of “A Funny Thing Happened on the way to the Throne,” Star Publish, May 2005. Her monthly columns appear in Shoals Woman, Penwomanship, and The Monthly View magazines. Visit her Queendom at http://www.queenjawjaw.com and read her “Lunch Hour Specials.” Don’t forget to “paws” a while and see what her good friend and writer-dog Trixie, a.k.a., da Trixster, has been up to. Georgia can be reached at Gjawjaw1@aol.com.

Diet Is a 4 Letter Word

If you took all the weight I’ve gained and lost over the past 20 years, rolled it out and flattened it, you could build a road from Texas to New York. I’ve weighed every possible weight and worn every possible size known to women. I’ve gone from fluffy to fat only to travel back down to flat. I have been trim, slim, and one mean, lean machine. I’ve been mistaken for a beached whale, harpooned, and have been asked to display advertisements on my mid-section.

I’ve served as the 1998 Poster Person for Omar the Tent Maker. I have starved myself to the point of looking at my children and wondering what they would taste like, if marinated. I have watched Gone with The Wind a zillion times, devouring whole boxes of Oreos with side orders of Pickle-Flavored Potato Chips just because Rhett left; again. I’ve eaten bananas and grapefruit for months to look good on the beach, and sunburned to the point I needed medical attention. Okay, I didn’t think that one through, but I looked good.

I’m tired. Tired of the world telling me how I should look. Tired of the TV and magazines telling me I need to suck it in, trim it up, and make it firm. For what? I learned a long time ago Mr. Right doesn’t exist and Mr. Coffee, with a dab of flavored creams, is better and doesn’t expect me to cook. If a man can’t accept the wonderful, lovable person I am, why would I want him? I’m too old to give birth or to be Miss America, too broke to buy the latest fashions, and, quite frankly, as Rhett said, I don’t give a…a…rip. I like to eat. Sue me. I like meats, potatoes, sweets, and any kind of cheese.

It’s more than just liking food though. The real problem is I hate diets. Not only do I feel deprived, but my entire personality goes through some kind of metamorphosis. Whenever I see a skinny woman, I secretly place a curse on her Victoria’s Secret bra. How sane is that? After hours at work, I empty all the Sweet-N-Low out of the dispenser and fill it with real sugar. Pretty creative, eh? Even in the supermarket, I have been known to stand and lick the outside of the ice cream freezer doors, just to pretend.

Dieting changes my attitude at home too. When my oldest son told me he was leaving for a date, I grabbed both of his legs. As he pulled me along to the door I cried, “Don’t leave me alone in a house with chocolate-covered raisins!” As he shook his head and left, I hollered after him, “I gave you life, you little ingrate!”

In truth, I’ve finally convinced myself that a person should not be judged by the size of their clothes anyway, but by the size of their heart… right?

Okay, everybody that believes that, let go of your pizza.