Diet Has The Word "Die" In It For A Reason

I went to the States at the end of last year. And you better believe I ate out every meal, every day for a month. Not to mention the massive free-poured cocktails I consumed nightly and the candy which was so cheap and novel lining every convenient store shelf. I even bought an individually packaged pickle in New Orleans, amazing! Suffice to say, I came back a little chubbier that I was when I left. Whatever, I thought; the weight will come off once I go back to normal life – playing basketball, eating lots of veg… It’ll be fine. But it wasn’t. A month on and I was still more oompa loompa than impala. My favourite dresses didn’t sit in quite the same way, I started having to wear loose fitting t-shirts to work to cover my paunch and my confidence, wit and ability to flirt with tradies while serving them food and coffee faded a little. I even stopped cutting love hearts out of beetroot and placing them on plates beside sandwiches and pies. (This is a fun little addition I find amusing as it sends an odd mixed message; it’s cute but a little creepy, especially when it bleeds red juice everywhere.) Anyway, it was sad times in the world of Maz.

It appeared that drastic measures would have to be taken. So I did the worst thing a person could do and I googled free diet plans. Oh, the shame. I came across a diet which I had completed successfully back on ’04 – I won’t name it because it works and I want those of you carrying some extra weight to keep it on, so that we can all remain part of the same jiggly fraternity – but it basically involved only eating fruit, veg, vegetable soup and two steaks at the end of the week. I honestly thought that it would be a piece of cake to complete (pun intended).

By the evening of day two (soup and vegetables) my husband came home to find me sitting on the couch, knees up to my chest (I don’t want to say I was in the foetal position, but I was in the foetal position) a moment away from tears. We both decided that it was time to fuck that diet right off and go and get a pizza. My very best efforts and I lasted not even two days. I mean, I love being lazy, and surely going on a diet speaks to this desire to be a sloth; you are required to literally do nothing. You just don’t eat. That’s all there is to it. So I suppose I will just chalk that up as another thing which I fail abysmally at.

However, I did start to wonder if it was such a terrible thing to be a little imperfect. All my life I have been a trick monkey. Anything that would get a laugh, I would do. When I was fifteen and worked at McDonald’s I would serve people while pretending to have a lisp to make the days go quicker, I constantly black out my teeth with cake and icing when making cakes and the other day I literally high fived someone I didn’t know, who was standing on the median strip, while stopped at lights because I felt that maybe my friends needed some amusement on the way to the pub. The man ran away, into oncoming traffic once he had high fived me, it was hilarious – “job well done” I thought. So if my body can’t be “perfect” by conventional standards, why can’t it be comical? Personally, I think it is unfair if you are both beautiful, well-built AND a nice, funny person. For instance, I have started to really warm to a girl at work who has the most slamming body and a gorgeous face. She said something really funny to me the other day and I thought “if she gets any funnier, I am going to need her to get uglier somehow”. Go ahead; judge my character according to that statement and while you’re at it feel free to also judge me according to this list of things which are wrong with my body.

My thighs: I have larger than regular thighs. I think I am technically overweight according to that BMI thing, so of course I will always jump on board when people say that it is all a bunch of hooey. “Yes, it’s crap”, you’ll hear me yell “there is no one-size-fits-all way to determine whether someone is a healthy size” while inside I’m thinking “Geez Maz, we’d better start laying off those tubs of sour cream eaten with a spoon when alone in the house!” So while I definitely do NOT sport the “gap factor” what I can offer is, in my opinion, just as appealing. When dancing naked, my legs will literally clap together keeping the time of my jig. Not only is this humorous but it’s useful – I am like a one-lady band!

Unwanted hair: Now I know everyone has unwanted hair – legs, armpits, bikini line etc. But I have hair in two strange places which I refuse to get rid of. Firstly, I have this one hair on my cheek which just grows limitlessly. Occasionally when it gets in my line of vision I will try and pull it out with my fingers. Generally though, this will just curl it rather than remove it. So, basically, I have facial hair which I style. Secondly, I have hairy big toes. This doesn’t help with the long held theory that I may be part hobbit – I am quite short in stature and the hair that grows from my toes is long and dark. I keep it, because I feel it gives me character, plus it makes for a good conversation starter.

Chubby baby hands: While I am already quite a little person I sport smaller than average hands. They are also very plump. Thanks to them I will never be able to play acoustic guitar or hold a basketball single handed. I’m pretty sure people study photographs of me thinking that their camera has had some sort of malfunction, distorting the hands at the end of my arms to the point where they look like little Christmas hams. Never fear faithful Facebook friends, these are my real hands, your cameras and computer screens are in full working order.

Muffin top: I have what is commonly referred to as a “muffin top” (where your chub hangs over your pants or skirt resembling the muffin spilling from the top of its paper shell), but here’s the kicker: it is ever-present. Even when naked I have a muffin top. It is really quite remarkable. I am assuming that it is from wearing clothes which are too tight (I often underestimate my size, I am so gullible I believe the lies I tell myself!) Somehow I have actually smooshed all my fat above and below my hip line to the point where it permanently stays in place, now to figure a way to manipulate this further and increase the size of my boobs.

Circle head: I have a big round head. Once a drunken stranger on the train told me I had a head like a pumpkin and I have to admit, he was onto something. I have a big, round butternut-shaped noggin. When I smile my cheeks push into my eyes and make me look all squinty. It’s cool though, because the day they start casting for the movie of the Magic Faraway tree, you’d better believe I’ll be well in the running to get the part of Moonface.

So there you have it, the list of things that are wrong with me. If you can think of anything else that you’ve noticed and I haven’t, feel free to let me know. I’m also interested to find out if anyone else has deformities they are proud of. Regardless, the lesson for today is – if you are boring you’d better jump right onto that treadmill or go get a nose job. And if you are a bit of an uggo learn a joke or grow a monobrow – at least you’ll have something to talk about. Basically, I want you all to be either ugly and funny or boring and hot; just don’t be better than me – so we can remain friends.