Today I was excitedly telling my parents about several recipes I had found and food I was anxious to attempt making. I LOVE food. I recently tried to diet… but it was doomed from the start. I’m not really that overweight. I could stand to lose maybe 5 pounds because I DO have a teeny bit of a gut, but that’s it. I wouldn’t really want to lose anymore. So I forewent the diet in favor of a crunchily glazed blueberry fritter, freshly made spicy chocolate gelato, spaghetti with creamy vodka sauce, and the sweet promise of rich, moist, rarely-seen-out-of-season pumpkin pie squares.
SO worth it!
At any rate, I was eagerly going on about a recipe for pasta frittata that I wanted to try, as well as one for paneer that has piqued my interest, and expressing a general desire to try eggplant, most likely in eggplant parmesan-form, when my father interrupted me.
Now, my dad has never been one to sugar-coat, or even really to care if he tramples on someone’s dreams or desires. I think he’s actually proud of this ruthlessness in some bizarre, life-sucking way.
He informed me that “You know, you’re going to die someday, and when you do, you don’t want to have to have fifteen pall-bearers. If you keep obsessing with food like this, you’re going to, you know.”
EXCUSE ME? I’ll be honest, people, and give you the exact numbers. Last time I checked, (which was, just so you know, YESTERDAY) I weighed 130.2 pounds. I have a 29-inch waist. I sincerely wish that I could believe he was joking, as he may have intended me to, but this is how my father is. He is so INCREDIBLY critical of other peoples’ bodies, it’s disgusting. Mine, my mother’s, strangers’ in the mall, at a restaurant, riding down the road on a motorcycle…
The moral of the story is that my body is mine and I can do whatever I want with it. And I think, that just maybe, I want to join the culinary program at my college and quit letting myself be crushed by my father’s delusions.