I like
to eat my feelings. I admit it. On the other hand, I like to eat in general, so
maybe I just like the excuse to eat some more.
Ugh, I
shouldn’t eat so much! I’ve already accepted the fact that I’m never going to
be slim, tall, or any socially appropriate form of beauty. I’m a 4’ 10”
half-Mexican, half-British combo meal of a small and curvy composition. Surprisingly
enough, I’ve come to like it. Everything from my strong, British nose to my short,
wide (or luscious, as I like to call them) thighs. I even like my boobs. I’ve
considered naming them, like my best friends has to her own (Bonnie and
Clyde—great gals, really), but I never remember names so I just gave up on
that.
My
problem isn’t hating my curves or my wide build. Not even my stumpy height.
It’s that I want to be fit.
I want
to eat well. Not just “not eating pure death.” I don’t survive on reheated
pizzas through college like some, but I want to become a master of taking care
of my body. It’s probably no secret by now that I have a thing for progression,
and perfecting myself. I’m not very good at it, but I plan on changing that
about myself too—EVENTUALLY!
I have
a guy friend named Bra—uh, we’ll call him B here. B is always screaming
“Eventually!” I’m pretty sure it’s a reference to something, since everything
that comes out of his mouth is. I thought I was a monsto-nerd until I met him.
Then I realized I only knew half of the underbelly of the internet. He knows
150% of it. Does anyone get that reference? It’s involves striking a dramatic
pose and screaming “Eventually” in a rather heroic voice. Someone. Help me.
Anyway.
I want some Oreos, and a Hershey’s chocolate bar, and a box of Junior Mints.
Actually, I might even settle for the Junior Mints. In fact, yes, I would. I’m
pretty sure I’d marry Junior Mints if it was legal to do so...
...and also legal to
eat your spouse.
If anyone wanted to kidnap me and sell me on the black market
in Amsterdam, basically all they’d need would be a big box of Junior Mints and
a net. I might not even struggle.
Guys,
what do I do? Poor people used to eat healthy because healthy food was all they
could afford. I’m a college student in the U.S.’s Days of Obesity—which means
that cheap food equals trash food. I don’t like spending money. I don’t like
surviving on Kraft Macaroni (hate that stuff—if you’re planning on kidnapping
me, don’t use that as your lure. I’ll run the other way). So what do I do? How
do I save money and nourish my poor, 4’ 10” halfie body?
I don’t
like the answer, but I can practically hear my mother whispering it in my ear.
“Victory Garden.”
Unfortunately, the closest thing I have to a victory garden is this:
Anyone else have an idea? Any super-special eating well advice out there for a lonely college girl?
