I Hate My Thighs and Other Variations of Fat is Evil (version 2)

Last night, I was watching Tyra Banks yak about gams and cellulite. Of course, I was glued to the set. Two years ago, I was sporting size 0 jeans. Today, I'm lucky if I could fit into my stretch pants without butter or some equally oily substitute. What a cruel, cruel world. Actually my goal is to regain my 25" waistline before my 26th birthday this coming September. But I don't want to starve myself, the way I did two years ago. Back then, I was doing it for a boy, a boy who later turned out to be the worst type of jerk in the history of mankind. 10 pounds and gallons of tears later, I realized that there's always a selfish component to losing weight that most of us tend to ignore. Essentially, we want to look good. However, we never think of doing it exclusively for ourselves. We exercise because we're worried that someday our bodies will give out on us (boo-hoo for the people who love and care for us). We eat right because a wobbly ass isn't exactly a turn-on for the people we're trying to attract. We subject ourselves to a battery of beauty treatments because society demands that we put on our "face" before we show ourselves to the public. But what if, what if some of us can actually lead a healthier lifestyle, just because it's doable. I'd like to try that. I want to be the poster girl for healthy living, and I want people to come up to me and ask, "What motivated you to lose weight?" And I'd be like, "Nothing, I just felt like it. That's all." And they'd be like, "So you weren't pressured by the thin-is-in fad?" And I'll be all haughty and condescending, while I tell them to go fuck themselves. By then, I would have lost all contact with certified members of the human race. Nevertheless, I'm still gonna be thinner than these haters. And believe me, that's enough for me.