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Shedding pounds: Of beef and carrots

via worldpeacediet.com

In my subconscious quest for my next blog topic, my job couldn’t have been made any easier.

Of all the susceptible themes I could prey on, topics which gullible and convenient enough, made them easy targets for literal exploitation, of all the tough and crazy happenings on the planet,my next topic was brought to me on a plate. Literally!

They say I am fat. :-|, yup, that at 14 Stone, I’m as big as a chubby horse failing to draw its carriage. That I should “shed some pounds”.

As a maths sort of chap, I will forever wonder how they arrived at such a dreadful + inaccurate conclusion. Anyhow, this mighty revelation od theirs was brought to a head last weekend, when I was allowed to eat only one portion at a family gathering in my home city; One beef slice, some potatoes, an excuse of a salsa, and a helping of salad.

In the past, at this family member’s house, I’ve been at liberty to go for “seconds”, and while it must be said that their salad was quite exotic, complete with smoked salmon and truffles, what the stonking hell is wrong with these people?

Don’t give me that I’m-telling-you-because-i-care-stare. No, don’t you patronise me, I’m not exactly failing to walk, nor struggling to breathe because my arteries are clogged full with cholesterol, and are screaming out for a knight in shinning armour. I’ve not been to hospital with a real illness since 2004, and although I may not look it, lets go to the park for an open ended marathon, and u’ll be surprised just how much stamina I have.

Have these people even seen what “fat” really looks like? Must show them this, and ask them if even in the most distorted of visions, I resemble anything like that person.

In any case, what issue have they with how I look?
It is true that they are my family (we share the same surname with some). And yeah some of them had a bearing in bringing me onto this earth, and in raising me so much so that we do also hold similar views on certain things.

But thats about it! That’s where the line gets drawn. Beyond the similar views, looks and surnames is out of bounds. Off limits. I don’t want you shoving your ideology on food down my ears. Its violence and discriminatory, a lot worse when coming from people who are supposed to be “family”.

Shouldn’t they be like, “We’re on your side whatever the weather”?. They don’t pay my gym membership for me? Nor do they buy me time from work to do yoga. But even if they did, even if they went as far as employing a private yogi master, a  guru to train me in the eastern disciplines, I wouldn’t want to know. I’d probably stick to the Familyguy-lameAmericanTvSoap-walkinthepark-writing routine. Very little would change.

What would you rather I look like, an anorexic descentant of a Neanderthal? Hairy, malnoutritioned and incapable of lifting a teaspoon to my own mouth.

In my youth, I fell for peer pressure, the notion that if everyone of the boys was doing it, I’d better join in. Shortly after, I was all in for some bearded magician who wore sandals and lived two thousand years ago. As an undergraduate, the trio of booze, a cute girlfriend and a piece of paper with a name of a university above my full name were terribly exciting; and when I got my first job, I signed up for the unmistakable vanity in my profession.

Now, with the shimmeringly irresistible promise of endless supply of carrots, soya milk, unleavened bread and tofu, another craze battles for my soul! Its prophets, my own family.

Not falling for this one.



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