While attending community college a few years back, having gained probably over sixty pounds at that point, I would stop at a Yuppieville gourmet donut shop that was super popular. There was always a line. A line of men and women in colorful lycra, having probably just come back from the gym or from a hike or bike ride. Thin, athletic people. Tan with thick, rope veins. And then me. In jeans that were too tight because they once fit (and if i committed to buying bigger jeans, I committed to buying a bigger self), and a top that tried to hide everything. At a donut shop. I could never see the draw for them.
What are you doing to your blood sugar? Are you really willing to consume all the calories that you just so diligently burned off?
They happily order their cake donut's, their old fashioned's, their apple fritter's. If they were really worried about their gut, they could order gluten-free. As if that made a difference. They were seemingly oblivious to the health consequences of their actions, and it just made me more jittery. More guilty. It was as if being bad now belonged to those who earned it, sweat it out.
I would wonder, standing in line, that if all their consumers were like me, fat like me, what kind of message would that send about their business? Wasn't it better this way? With thin people milling around, grazing on the sweets, everyone believed, it's okay to treat yourself. Donuts are safe to eat. They don't stick to you. To your gut. To your thigh's. You can enjoy the flavors, and that's it. No worries. Like it never even happened. A lover who always uses a condom.
Me? I couldn't even pretend I was there for the coffee.
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