I Think I Can I
Think I Can, Have A Fat Chance with Maya
by Lee Minh Sloca
After
weighting my flabby options over, I could imagine
her thin laughter, “Sorry, I don’t date
short, fat, old Asian guy.” Well, there
wasn’t much I could do about being short,
old, Asian, or just being a guy. Much I could do
about being fat; so I decided to do more than
just sucking the rejection in.
If there was a
book, pill, or liquid that promised to lose, burn,
block, flush, eject, expel, or spank the fat,
I’d, once, swallow, inject, burn, cut, or
glue it on me. There was the High-protein Diet,
the High-carb/ low fat Diet, the Waterfall Diet,
the SlimFast Diet, the Hollywood Celebrity
Grapefruit Diet, and the Jenny Craig Point System
Diet.
These fads
helped me to lose the weight, but generally when
I quit, I’d gain all of it back plus a few
more. Like a yo-yo, I felt like a success then a
failure – success then failure; success,
failure…
In the end,
all I did was to make the $30 billion/a year diet
industry richer than my fat sinking ass. My three
last desperate dieting attempts were the
“Appetite suppressing eyeglasses,” the
“Magic weight-loss earrings,” and the
“AbTronic.” None of it worked, plus my
fashion IQ dipped 75 points.
I was in an
abusive relationship, my fat and me; so my family
begged me to stop the insanity. I did by getting
a restraining order on my fat: No fat shall be
within 20 feet of me! But the order only last 72
hours; so I gained it all back plus a few more.
Next, I tried to ditch my fat, moving from city
to city, from state to state, and from country to
country. But no matter where I ran, my fat would
always find me. Especially whenever I walked by a
mirror, I would see it in the corner of my eyes,
bouncing, jiggling, and mocking at me.
Desperate, I
filed for a divorce from my fat. But the $30
billion diet industry gained the info and filed a
counter lawsuit for custody of my body, claiming
that I was being a fatist, i.e., discriminating
against fat.
In court, when
I stuck to the major health issues, I was winning
but in the end I lost the case. Under crossed
examination, I confessed my shame - whenever I
was stressed out: my mantra was, “stressed
spelled backward is desserts.” So
my fat wanted “half,” but we worked out
a compromise: my fat would get sole custody of my
body during the winter months, Christmas, New
Year, Thanksgiving, and Easter. In turn, I would
get sole custody of my body during the summer
months, Spring Break, and any major religious
fasting holidays. We would, however, have joint
custody of my body during sex or masturbation.
No, no, I
haven’t given up hope on my sweet,
delectable Maya; I am onto a new scheme. It’s
called “The Sexy Body Diet.” In short,
it’s a program where you eat naked in front
of the mirror, and I’m happy to say that I
have lost 20 lbs., but sadly I’ve been
kicked out of all major restaurants in town,
including all McDonald’s drive-through
windows.
Ah, sweet
success then bitter failure - success then
failure; success, failure…
plus a few more.
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