a one-night stand with diet man

today. i really want to go on a diet.

i have to fight going on diets like most people have to fight eating that seductive piece of chocolate or drinking one more beer. (alright, i have to fight the chocolate too.)

it started yesterday with a bra. yes, ladies and gentleman, a bra. i haven't done laundry in weeks so, in a hurry, i slipped on a bra that i pulled from the dungeon of my dresser, whose elastic was shot, gone, non-existent. all day long, i felt uncontained. uncontrolled. unsupported. to sort of borrow a phrase from the boys, i was practically free-breasting it.

breasts can be lovely things, do not get me wrong. i understand and appreciate the value of a strong set of mammaries, but...breasts, when they feel like they're hanging down to your ankles, do little for a girl's self-esteem. i am not one of those gamine young things w/ espresso cup-sized breasts that can be-bop around during the summer in wispy tops with no coverage. no. i'm a respectable C cup, not too big, not too little, but juuuuuust right. however, they need support. i like them uplifted, optimistic, facing forward, looking proudly toward the future, not ashamedly down towards my feet.

so anyway, i went to bed with that fat feeling. i was hoping it was a one night stand, but he's still here, i'm trying to get him to leave by ignoring him, but now he wants to go get breakfast - where he will certainly chastise me for my food choices. ugh.

sorry, stupid metaphor, but you get my point...

this desire to diet usually coincides with days when i'm feeling more than a little out of control of the circumstances in my own life. if i can't control my life, i can control my body...breasts, weight, or otherwise, right?

well, the diet industry would certainly have us believe that. it keeps us buying books. i have a whole collection of diet books that i've picked up on days like today, hoping that just by carrying them in my backpack my body would absorb and adopt their tenets - French Women Don't Get Fat, The ABS Diet, Bob Greene's Total Body Makeover, The Fat Fallacy, The South Beach Diet, The Zone, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera...ad nauseum.

oh, it's just a bunch of bullmalarkey. i can't control my body - really. no one can. if we could, no one would ever get cancer, or diabetes, or multiple sclerosis, PMS, or those scary moles on their chin with hairs growing out of them. even our weight, as we start getting older and our hormones start taking over, is less in our control. a body that was once malleable, is less so, and like a crotchety old man, pays no heed to your mind's desires for thinner thighs or smoother skin.

i am not in control of anything, really, and that, i think is the hardest truth to swallow. it's scary. i can't control my hair in the summer humidity. i can't control whether or not people will like my show. i can't safeguard my breasts against cancer. i can only do what i can, take incredibly good care of my body, and pray that it sees me through everything i need and want to do. and at some point, don't we just have to accept? isn't it more interesting and fun to accept that lack of control? that freedom? c'mon...surfing's no fun when there ain't no waves...

okay, okay, okay...i'm not gonna buy a diet book today. i'm not gonna pick up a magazine that promises me a bikini-ready body in 30 days. i'm not gonna do a juice fast. i'm just gonna put on a good bra, eat a hearty breakfast, and kiss that fat feeling goodbye. he's really not right for me anyway.