For tomorrow we diet. Or the day after. As the case may be. Which is much better. Tomorrow, that is. Because the whole point of a diet is to say you’re on it.
Diets are measures of our self-respect- much as any form of self-abegnation. Or flagellation, which is much closer, pyschologically. In short, I think diets are Catholic: self-esteem by works, not grace. In punishing ourselves culinarily we achieve redemption from the gross fat that damns us from the cult of Health and Beauty- regardless of the physical results, our efforts show that our heart is in the right place. The failure of the diet to make any changes in said grossness removes responsibility from our shoulders, and places it on the shoulders of Provender- I mean, Providence. That is, Nature gives, and Nature taketh away- or not, as she pleases. Thankfully, we’re not required to bless her for it.
Granted, some of us are a little more fanatic. (What is a religion without fanatics?) There are the Pharisees, who count calories, and eat sugar-less-fat-free cardboard and go jogging in trademark sweatsuits. Then there are the Sadducees who prefer the fad diets… all meat, no carbs… all carbs, no meat… cabbage… grapefruit… The Ascetics go vegetarian. The Jesuits go around telling everyone what diet they’re on, and who should be.
Some of us are sinners. We eat. Like, food and stuff. (It’s the stuff that gets you everytime.) Being a generally traditional, religious person, the diet kick was mother’s milk to me. (Literally. Mother and I have shared many diets.) I tried cutting out sugar- which kicked up my caffeine intake; tried eleven day diets- I get the days confused; tried eating once a day- but had too much fun with my evening meal. When I had «sand» in my gallbladder, I ate only buckwheat and oatmeal. Being a dilettante of self-discipline, I tried seeing how little I actually could eat: I can subsist on the Grace Livingston Hill diet of a cup of tea, and a slice of bread and butter in the evening, but it was leading in anorexic directions, and when I started getting nauseous when I ate I quit that. And incidentally quit the diet/self-discipline thing and became a dyed-in-the-wool food sinner. And fattish, to boot.
Because the thing is, there’s food. Lots of it. I read something similar in «Why Frenchwomen are Thin»: the author said that Frenchwomen eat whatever they like and enjoy- but in limited quantities. Which is a diet, if you ask me. For the sake of my self-respect, I don’t gorge myself, but neither do I torture myself with proportions and food balances.
«The world is so full of a number of things….» Pails of pudgy red-gold strawberries, transparent purply currants, sharp cucumbers that smell like spring when you cut them open, small mountains of multicolored mushrooms, sour cream, clinging thickly to the spoon… And the blueberries aren’t even ripe yet. Strawberry shortcake with blancmange in place of whipped cream, pancakes with crushed strawberries and sour cream, dumplings with gleaming red cherries from the bush under the window, quick-salted cucumbers, exhuding essence of dill-and-garlic, mushrooms fried with generous amounts of onions… Who said anything about a diet?!
The real point for a diet atheist is that the whole skinny-as-a-rail thing is overdone and unnatural. If we were supposed to look like sticks, we’d have been born in Auschwitz. Or Africa… Granted, it’s a bit difficult to hold this position when one looks in awed admiration at the canonized saints who have achieved the thin, delicate look with beauty and avoided the martyrization of say, Keira Knightly. One might be almost tempted to genuflect before icons of Halle Berry et al. One must remind oneself very strongly that such characters as Audrey Hepburn are mythological….
Life becomes much simpler when we forego the religious ecstasies of the sacrificial diet. Maybe a bit boring… a bit less romantic… no fluttering hopes of ethereal beauty to comfort us in the dark… But comfortable… practical… delicious, when all is said and done. Ah well, surely chocolate was created that we might enjoy it?!