Why New Year’s diets can kiss my turkey-butt

I was sat watching the Michael Buble Christmas Special last night (please reserve judgement, I’m at the folks and I have to try and be considerate to other people’s viewing ‘tastes’) and Sealion Dion was doing her thing. Amazing dress if you didn’t see it, loved the neckline. However, those gathered all agreed that she needed to eat a pie or two.

This is what happens in our house. People on the telly get told they need to eat pies. Most the skinny folk. Other households point out every fat person with relish, explain why they are patently not a human-being (I am saying this ironically, in jest at those making the judgement, and not attacking those folk themselves you understand) and seek to assault them with lettuce leaves.

When did this happen? When did it become ok to try and deflect unwarranted attention on our own physical shortcomings by abusing those so dramatically different (and often, tellingly more successful) than ourselves? This practice as a self-defence mechanism for our own fragile ego’s is probably ok-ish in the confines of your own home, but you have to bloody well be aware of your audience.

Setting the example to kids for example that pointing out every person they meet’s visual ‘flaws’ is no way to make friends and influence people….positively. My daughter (for those of you who haven’t had the pleasure of being confronted by her) has bonkers curly hair. I’m talking full on electrocuted ball of fluff in the right weather conditions. She is only three and yet cries that she doesn’t have long, straight, shiny princess hair. Thanks Disney. There is so much wrong with that, I don’t know where to start. When did a three year old get self-conscious?

So it’s Christmas, and the time for full on feasting has arrived. Swiftly followed by soon-to-be-broken resolutions to run the London Marathon and be a size ten. Not on my watch. You see, I am unfashionably content with myself. I like my grey hair (yep, stopped dying it 6 months ago, more on that another day), my varicose veins remind me happily of a collapsed rugby scrum when I was 16, and as for my squidgy bum -it’s ace for sitting on.

So screw you diets. Bugger off scales. And hello big, sexy pants, warm vests, brandy butter and goose fat. My princess hair is big, grey and messy and any suggestion that it should be otherwise can do one.

Merry Christmas! xx

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