I blame Tim Noakes for spoiling my life.
Those wonderful days of sitting with girlfriends drinking champagne and stuffing cupcakes into our mouths are over.
Pizza is the new poison. Cake has become the combatant. Hamburgers are now hostile.
And friendships are under threat. When my best friend forever said she had ‘nothing to wear’ I asked her if she’d like to borrow a dress.
‘No thanks, sweets, I’m a Size Zero, no carbs ya know…’
Well fuck me with a fish fork. I’ve never been a Size Zero. Because I still have fun. Because I eat. And because my ex best friend always used to borrow my dresses.
I really don’t care about Tim Noakes.
But no one cares that I don’t care.
‘You should try juicing, ya know…’
Juicing. The word that’s taken over my timelines. It’s taken over my friends. It’s taken over from tacos. And toblerone. It has tested true love.
We used to stand in my kitchen with cocktails in our hands. Now we stand with apples in one, and spinach in the other. Carrots on the counter instead of cocaine. Lettuce instead of LSD. Eggplant instead of ecstasy.
And it’s not only my girlfriends. Men used to try feed me strawberries dipped in chocolate and lick champagne out my vagina. But now strawberries have too much sugar and vaginas are high carb.
‘Come chop some bok choi with me, China.’
I don’t know about you, but that’s not really as satisfying as oral sex.
And everyone keeps a food diary. I can’t even keep a work diary, let alone write down how many organic mushrooms I ate on Monday. I don’t care about my friend’s food diaries. They want me to ooh and aah over them. I want to ooh and aah over food porn.
Preferably high carb food porn.
I’m going to stand by my gluten. I’m never giving up carbs. I’m going to look you in the eye while I devour my delicious donut.
And I’m going to dare you. Come on. Have a bite. It’s delicious.