Tuesday, 2 July 2013

I'm not fat. I have a disease

The trouble with getting free stuff on your birthday is that you have to think ahead.
I went to Starbucks this morning after my workout and fully expected to get a free non-fat dry capp only to be told I should have bought myself a gift card last week. I knew that, because I've been trolling the Internet looking for all the free stuff I could get on my birthday and the Starbucks website told me that very thing. I just thought it would have been nice for all the staff to get together to buy me one, given that I am such a good customer.
They did smile and give me a survey. If I fill it out, I'll get a free drink.
Better than nothing I guess.
And I can get my freebies elsewhere.
I'm going to Red Lobster for lunch with number two son today and you get a free dessert at Red Lobster. You should, given how damned expensive that place is. It will be Red Lobster and a movie this afternoon. I decided that I would treat myself to the cinema for the first time since my first date with Scott ten years ago when we went to The Hours and I fell asleep.
A few years ago I developed panic disorder in the midst of perimenopause and I've avoided enclosures especially the ones with loads of people jawing popcorn and slurping Diet Coke.
I can't eat the food at the movie theatre, either. That cheese they put on the Nachos gives me the runs -- not something that adds ambience to film watching.
But I'm going to give the theatre another go.
It's my 57th birthday and I've decided to change my stars.
I say that every year and nothing seems to change very much.
Three years ago, I started working out and while I have lost four inches around the band, my boobs are still a whopping G cup. Fuck me. And for some Goddamned reason I've gained back the ten pounds I lost.
What the hell?
My BMI is registering morbidly obese.
Thankfully, the American Medical Association has now determined that obesity is a disease.
That takes a load off.
It means it's not my fault that I'm 220 pounds.
The potatoes and ice cream? The red wine and tequila?
Nope, not their fault.
I'm just a walking, talking petrie dish full of disease which can be fixed apparently now by Big Pharma and it's covered. Ditto for all those visits to the bariatic doctors.
Good thing Scott's benefits just kicked in.
I can't wait to discover what marvels the medical community have in store for me.
I'm sure my treatment will involve pills and potions instead of a strict diet.
No more DASH. Better living through pharmaceuticals.
That's the ticket.
Seriously, I believe the weight is my problem. I gave up on myself last winter when Scott became unemployed and I was let go from my job as a magazine editor. I just sat in this window watching the snow fly, and allowed the fat cells to expand at will. So now it's payback.
You might say that a visit to Red Lobster isn't exactly the right move, and that all those calories including the whipped cream I will be consuming on the free dessert will go right to my hips.
Ah, yes.
But I'm walking to Red Lobster.
And walking back.
I'll teach my disease a thing or two in the coming year.
Obesity will not define me.
So I'm fat.
So what?
I'll just buy myself a bigger pair of jeans.

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