Diet is a four letter word
Since a sizeable proportion of the world as I know it is about to embark on a crazy eating binge any minute, I want to get this off my chest now:
I don´t care if you´re on a diet.
I don´t care if you mean to go on a diet soon.
I´m not interested in the latest wonder-diet your cousin has told you about.
I don´t care if your zip doesn´t do up.
So you feel guilty about eating. SO WHAT?
If you don´t want to eat, fine.
If you want to spend january fasting, fine.
If you want to jump out of a window, go ahead and be my guest.
Just don´t, please, please, moan about the cream and the butter and the chocolate and the almonds, while stuffing your face.
Also, don´t imply I´m stupid by telling me how many calories are in a bite of turrón. I KNOW.
You only make the food turn to ashes in my mouth, and you make me want to drown you in the punch bowl.
And this is supposed to be the season of good cheer and goodwill, after all, so I´d really appreciate it if you´d just shut up and be a good guest.
There. Aren´t I quite the little ray of seasonal sunshine?