Sunday, October 18, 2009
…and so are Froot Loops, Apple Jacks and Frosted Flakes! Says who? Why must everything I love be taken from me? What started with the demise of a solid sugar filled breakfast has now manifested itself into the banishment of adult pleasures. I’m more than willing to forgo my current life in exchange for the acceptable consumption of Pop Tarts and Tater Tots at any age. What happened to Saturday morning cartoons over a bowl of sugared cereal, toast and OJ? It’s unheard of after the age of 2. Let’s start teaching our children that sugar and carbs are the enemy whilst they are young, so that they can be fat, obsessed, overeating little f’rs before they enter kindergarten! I say, let the little bastards eat what they want and send them out to play until such time that you have to let them back in for fear of the law….I mean until they’ve worked off their meal…ugghum. Because of parents like you, I’m forced to wake up at the crack of my ass, run a few hundred miles and eat whole grain cardboard just to stay 100 pounds behind the Quarter Pounders (those are the skinny chicks in case you are a new reader). I can’t take the pressure of having a love affair with the staples of my childhood. I know I should like baby calves reduced in a fancy sauces on a grassy plate…but I don’t. Unless we are talking about 2 all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun… but I don’t think those are baby calves….they taste pretty grown up.
It’s a good thing I have a husband to blame for what appears in my grocery cart. “Uncrustables,” Cheese Puffs, Nutty Buddies….I’m drooling all over the keyboard. Not only are these nostalgic nuggets of nectar considered classic treats of the worldly, the behind the scenes people have even started making them fat friendly. Yup. I can now enjoy whole grain Cheetos, French Fries and Beanie Weenies. Permission to side bar mid-paragraph? Riddle me this…is a fry is a fry by any other name. Perhaps. Apparently, if you call them by their socially acceptable name, Pomme Frites, you are looked upon as a cultured fatty with a distinguished pallet. However comma, when speaking of them in the “ghettonacular”, French Fries, you are just plain…well, ghetto. I think the next time I go to McDonald’s I’ll ask them to super size my Pomme Frites and cringe when they shoot me a blank look…gold teeth glaring… Van Gogh nails scratching at the weave. Yes, that is what I’m going to do. Back on track now… You see what’s going on here right? The snooty adult types are robbing the young at heart of their pleasures, turning around, renaming said treats in a foreign tongue and hoping that the we are too dumb to translate. I got news for ya….I’m fatlingual! If it involves food, I speak it sista.
For any of you doubters out there, I give you exhibit A: The rehearsal dinner. Recently I was asked to attend a rehearsal for a wedding I wasn’t in. Translation…friendship = free food without laborious duties = happy SIF. As I sipped my beer and made small talk with people I believed to be looking upon me as “slutty” (not far off and proud of it, thank you), I noticed that we had been pre-seated with 2 couples and 2 kids. More beer please. I wasn’t in the mood to drink but I also wasn’t in the mood for pre-pubescent torture… so beer seemed the obvious choice to stabbing the midgets with my utensils. As I took my seat, I noticed that the kids had sippy cups filled, no doubt, with the likes of fruit punch….my personal favorite. Had I asked the waiter to replace my beer with Hawaiian Punch, I think we all know what would have happened…the looks…the gasps…the kiddie table for this SIF. So, I let it go. At some point, the waitress came over and asked what the adults would like to eat. The choices were slabs of beef, fish and potatoes. Fine. That is, until, without warning, the children were served pizza, fries and applesauce. Let me tell you how that felt to me….like watching the groom admit, in front of the entire wedding party that he’s been shagging his 70 year mother-in-law and she’s pregnant with their love child. Something like that. Are you freaking kidding me? That’s a meal fit for a SIF who’s tucked safely in her “womb” where she can’t be judged. It took everything I had to watch those little rats dip their Pomme Frites in applesauce whilst eating the innards of their pizza and leaving the crust behind as a sign that they lead a much better life than I! Dammit! Shoulda stabbed um while I had the chance….
I dream of the days when I had “people” who would make me whatever I wanted whilst I watched Tom & Jerry and decided who would be the lucky recipient of my intolerable behavior.
The worst thing that ever happened to me was getting sent to my room. You’ll recall, that’s where Mommy stashed the peanut M&M’s….not such a bad deal for a kid like me. Perhaps my “womb addiction” began in the days of Coco Puffs and Mac-n-Cheese. I’m no head shrink but I think someone should have a talk with Mother. I fear she may be to blame for my dependence on childlike substances. I’ll leave you with a thought…I use to order fruit punch at business meetings whilst the professional types ordered coffee and tea. I thought they liked me enough to overlook my “Kool-Aid” issues. Apparently not…as I was terminated on the ride home with random strangers in the vehicle. “Your position has been eliminated,” was the phrase of choice. Translation, “We gave your job to someone who drinks coffee, fatty.” This is the corporate gospel according to “the man.” Another day…another reason to binge eat.