In the words of Tina Fey..

From today’s Guardian….


Remembrances of Being Very Very Skinny

For a brief time at the turn of the century, I was very skinny. This is what I remember about that period.

• I was cold all the time.

• I had a pair of size-four corduroy short shorts. That I wore. To work. In the middle of Manhattan.

• I loved it when people told me I was getting too thin.

• I once took a bag of sliced red peppers to the beach as a snack.

• I regularly ate health food cookies so disgusting that when I enthusiastically gave one to Rachel Dratch she drew a picture of a rabbit and broke the cookie into a trail of tiny pieces coming out of the rabbit’s butt.

• Men I had met before suddenly paid attention to me . . . and I hated them for it.

• Sometimes I had to sleep with a pillow between my legs because my bony knees clanking together kept me awake.

• I had a lot of time on my hands because I wasn’t constantly eating.

• I ran three miles a day on a treadmill six days a week.

• I felt wonderfully superior to everyone.

• I didn’t have a kid yet.

We should leave people alone about their weight. Being skinny for a while (provided you actually eat food and don’t take pills or smoke to get there) is a perfectly fine pastime. Everyone should try it once, like a super-short haircut or dating a white guy.

Remembrances of Being a Little Bit Fat

For a brief time at the end of that last century I was overweight. This is what I remember about that period.

• My boobs were bigger.

• I once left a restaurant in the middle of dessert to get to Krispy Kreme before it closed.

• Even though I only liked McDonald’s fries, I believed it was more nutritious to make a meal of it and have two cheeseburgers as well.

• If I was really ambitious, I would get a Whopper Jr at Burger King and then walk to McDonald’s to get the fries. The shake could be from anywhere.

• I could not run a mile.

• I wore oversize men’s overalls that I loved.

• Guys who were friends did not want to date me . . . and I hated them for it.

• On at least three occasions, I vomited on Christmas Eve from mixing chocolate, peel-and-eat shrimp, summer sausage and cheese. No alcohol was involved.

• As a size 12, I took pride that I was “real woman”-sized. “Size 12 is the national average,” I would boast, “no matter what magazines try to tell you.”

• Once, while ironing in my underwear, I grazed my protruding belly with the hot iron.

We should leave people alone about their weight. Being chubby for a while (provided you don’t give yourself diabetes) is a natural phase of life and nothing to be ashamed of. Like puberty or slowly turning into a Republican.


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