Food issues
I’m being all opinionated today. I think I’ve got ‘food issues’ (yes, I’ve been reading Red Magazine again). I mean, I haven’t got any important sort of issues like body image or self esteem (oh, well I might have teeny tiny ones but that’s another story). I think most of my issues about other people’s issues.
Right, where to start…my food issues aren’t the usual kind of problems that people have around food. I eat what I want when I want and think diets are bloody stupid, frankly. I try (but don’t always succeed) to eat healthily, get my 5 a day and not overdose on Green and Black’s and Merlot. I just take exception to everyone else’s ridiculous eating habits. Take Hubby, for instance (please…). He doesn’t have breakfast (rush, rush, busy, busy) so by lunchtime he’s absolutely starving. He then proceeds to venture out to the nearest retail source of total crap and stuff himself silly. When I ask him what he’s had to eat, it’ll sound something like: ‘well, I had a Meatball Marinara 6′? sub in Subway with extra jalapenos and chilli sauce, then I had a packet of salt and vinegar, a large diet coke, one of their nice cookies with the chocolate chips and… oh yes, a Mars Bar in the car on the way back to work’. Fast forward then to tea time when I’m gearing myself up to rustle up something nice to eat for everyone and the answer’s always the same: ‘nah, I’m not hungry thanks, I ate loads earlier’. This one sentence is guaranteed to get my blood boiling. I like sitting down ‘en famille’ and eating. It’s not just about food, it’s about spending time together and mulling over the day. This is especially annoying because come about 8.30pm, having run full pelt for half an hour on his ghastly running machine (thud thud whirr whirr …I’m going to burn it one day when he’s not looking) he’ll announce that he’s got the munchies and will have to have cheese and biscuits or toast or something. So there you go. His issues are my issues as it were. Don’t get me wrong – often he’ll eat a sandwich and fruit and all the right stuff, but he eats so much at one sitting (usually 3pm when he remembers he hasn’t stopped for lunch) that it practically becomes his one meal of the day. His poor blood sugar must feel like it’s on a roller coaster.
I also have major issues about people on diets. Now I know that some people are larger than they’d like to be and I can understand them wanting to do something about it. But, come on, the ‘South Beach Diet’ and the ‘Atkins Diet’ and all those bloody stupid other ones like high this and low that…purrrlease. They’re all just crap really aren’t they. What’s wrong with three normal meals a day and a bit of exercise? I noticed on the front of my cereal packet this morning that they reckon you can ‘drop a dress size’ by substituting two normal meals a day with a bowl of cereal. Well I’m sorry, but if I wanted to eat that much cereal I’d be a hamster and not a human being. Generally, though, it seems that people who most obsessively watch their calorie intake are teeny tiny anyway. My Dad’s partner (sorry Dad, I’ll get a slap for this) is a weeny little thing, but still asks for salad instead of potatoes and things without sauces, then leaves half of it anyway. I’m fed up with all this ‘size zero’ nonsense. I mean, who actually fancies Nichole Richie? She looks like a twig with a Malteser on top. Nobody looks nice that thin. I always get an irresistible urge to kneel on their chests and force feed them with Cadbury’s Crème Eggs until they get some curves. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of flesh. I for one think curves are sexy; you can’t beat a flash of plump cleavage or a nice little hint of softly rounded hip peeking over the top of your jeans.
That’s it, I’ve found my metier: the English Mum in Ireland eating plan: breakfast, lunch, dinner, plus the odd bar of Maya Gold and a couple of glasses of Merlot, and you too can have curves like mine. Hmm..it’ll never catch on.
