Gimme Some Of Your Tots

Homecoming season has to be one of the most stressful times in the life of an adolescent girl. The worst part has to be the crazy dieting and spray tanning that girls go through to look “perfect” on their special night. Each year without fail, girls get all hyped up about looking good in their homecoming dresses and having the perfect bod. Don’t get me wrong- I totally understand. Twenty years from now when you’re an obese tub of lard living in your parent’s basement with Herman, your cat, you’ll look back and find comfort in the fact that once-upon-a-time you used to be gorgeous, skinny, and the Cheeto-colored.

But if you do so choose to put yourself through the pains and troubles of Atkins or South Beach, or invite yourself to the dangers of heavy tanning and skin cancer, please leave the rest of us out of it. I promise you, preaching to me about how many damn carbs are in my salad dressing will not stop me from drowning my lettuce leaves in delicious ranch goodness. Yes, I will be eating ALL of this 2-inch breadstick, thank you. And while I’m at it… hey Napoleon, gimme some of your tots.

Frankly, I could care less about what I look like on homecoming day. Okay, that’s a lie. I do want to look good- just not at the expense of giving up my favorite foods. Honestly, I’m about ready to tell my date that we should just wear matching sweats to the dance. Sweats are kind of like the motherly figures of the clothing world. They’re bulky, warm, and don’t judge if you’re in a food-coma from eating too much for dinner. Very forgiving, sweats are.  

A question for all you bitches out there who claim that “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”… have you ever had bacon?! Or cheesecake?! Are you sure you want to sacrifice a slice of grandma’s warm, gooey, extra rich chocolate cake just for one night of grinding with random strangers in your school cafeteria? If you answered yes, props to you. I wish I had your self-control. I also wish that you could, as my father would say, “broaden your horizons”.

For example, when you’re ninety years old on your deathbed, alone because all of your Cheeto friends have died from skin cancer, what’s going to matter more? The size of your waist at the homecoming dance, or the fact that you got to loosen up and live a little? Trick question! Neither one matters. All that’s really important in life is whether you snagged every piece of chocolate cake available. And that you own a quality pair of forgiving sweats. 

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