You know that skinny friend who has to preface an appetizer or dessert order with, "Let's be bad..."?
Or the guy who lost a bunch of weight on Atkins and palpitates at the mere thought of a carb?
Or the chick who thinks five potato chips are a splurge?
I worry that I'm headed down that path. A few weeks ago I wrote about having a panic attack over pasta back in 2003. I don't think I'm at that point yet, but I caught myself doing and saying some things in the past week that are so that guy.
During a discussion about the nastiness of Red Bull, my dad said that he preferred another energy drink called FOS. He went into his recycling bin to produce the visual aide - a crinkled 16 oz. can. I checked out the nutrition label, and not surprisingly, the two-serving can packed a total of 280 calories. So I says to him, I says, "There are 280 calories in this thing! There's no nutritional value to this drink!"
Dad: "So? What? Well, it gives you energy..."
Me: "But you could eat four eggs for the same number of calories. You could have a sandwich."
Dad: "Yeah, but then I'd feel nasty...after four eggs."
Me: "That's not the point. You could have something in your stomach, that takes time to digest, that makes you feel fuller longer."
Dad: "Well, it's just for energy...I don't need to be full..."
It then went on with me saying if you need an energy drink, just get a sugar free Red Bull and choke it back. That's what I do before my improv shows. I hate the taste too, but so what? I'd rather eat my calories than drink them.
I felt like such an A-hole. Who am I? Fucking Susan Powter? He's a growed man, he can make his own decisions. And while it was a lighthearted conversation and I didn't really chastise him, he could have been embarrassed. Who knows? Who gives an ess what I think?
I just know I don't want to be that person. I don't want to lecture people on what goes into their mouths because I've been lectured all my life. Stay tuned for the Bad Advice series of posts.
Conversely, I don't want to judge people that I perceive are extreme dieters. Not because I feel sorry for them, but just because...fuck 'em. They'll make their mistakes and come around, or they'll just keep living in fear of every bite they take. They're big kids. Fuck 'em. I can't waste my time or energy worrying about people who act like fools. I don't want them pushing their fads on me, so I shan't push mine on them.
So there's that,