The following is an approximation of a conversation I had at a Christmas party this weekend. A few details have been spared to protect the vain (like me).
Me: You look amazing! What are you doing? Are you back at boot camp or what?
Her: Well, I quit eating a year and a half ago.
Me: Oh. Well, I had a chicken fried steak for supper. So that explains that. I mean it’s not like this food baby is gonna feed itself.
Her: It’s not like I didn’t want to eat. It’s just the pressure in my neighborhood is enormous to be thin… and well, perfect.
Me: I know what you mean. It’s not any better in mine.
Her: Is it really that bad? I mean, I always thought you could be weird or quirky in your neighborhood.
Me: Oh, absolutely. I can be as quirky as I want. I just have to be thin.
(Baby Daddy joins the conversation about this point.)
BD: It’s not that bad.
Me: Really? Name one fat woman on our street.
…. long pause….
Me: You can’t! Because I’m the fat woman on our street!
BD: I’m leaving now because this is just gonna go badly for me.
Her: At least I’m still drinking. Everyone in my neighborhood quit eating about two years ago. That made them all pretty bitchy, but we were all at least tolerable because we still had our wine. Then lately, everyone quit drinking because they want to “purify” themselves.
Me: When you say “purify,” do you mean like get holy for Jesus or remove toxins new age bullshit?
Her: Oh Hell! Nobody quit drinking for Jesus. They’re all healthy and pure and no one can stand each other.
Me: At least you all look good.
Her: And isn’t that what really matters?
To be clear, I left the party with a name and number of a diet doctor and an appointment for Botox. But I absolutely will not give up my bourbon. I know what’s important.