Dear Mr. Diet:
I know we had an ugly break-up a few months ago. Things were going so well for so long. I had finally put you in your place, and you knew your proper role in my life. We really had something together, didn’t we? I started to lose significant amounts of ugly fat, and we celebrated each victory together. Yes, it was a healthy relationship.
But then things started to change. Little things you did started to really get on my nerves. Like when I wanted to eat a dozen chocolate chip cookies late at night with my teenagers, and you wouldn’t stop screaming “fat-ass!” in my ear. Or how about the time I ate 3 baskets of bread sticks at Olive Garden, you gave me a vicious case of Shame and Guilt for weeks? I really started to hate you. Even though I loved you once, I admit that I started to dream of greener pastures and hot fudge sundaes. It’s true, I became less and less willing to put any effort into our relationship.
The turning point came when you stopped bringing home the bacon. And the ham. And the gravy. You told me that tofu was good for me, and that bean sprouts and soy milk were my friends. God, I needed friends back then, damn you! I just want to know ONE thing, “Where’s the beef, you bastard?” And the doughnuts! You got rid of all the things I once loved. How dare you?
It really wasn’t me, it was YOU. I had no choice but to break up with you because I became convinced that things we never going to work out between us. You were boring, tasteless and unexciting. You lost the thrill, the pizzazz, the Ooh-La-La. No matter how hard I tried, I could not stop cheating on you. The temptations were all around me, alright! I WANT MY CAKE, AND I WANT ICE CREAM ON TOP TOO! Thankyouverymuch! Oh my God, I’m so weak!!!
Exactly how much iceberg lettuce is a woman supposed to live on? “Well, NO MORE!” I finally told you, “it’s OVER!” And I meant it, too. I was convinced I’d be better off without you. I told you that I hoped we could remain friends, but I knew deep down that was never going to happen. I’m an all-or-nothing kind of gal.
So I ignored all your texts and finally had to delete your number. I even un-friended you on Facebook. Yes, I decided to go it alone. Completely and utterly alone.
But then I found a new love, Mr. Dessert, and we began a wild, untamed and ultimately toxic relationship. What followed was a complete and miserable – although thoroughly delicious – diet-exploding couple of months of carnal pleasures. Like all things that are bad for you, the fire began to fizzle, and I began to realize what this new love was doing to my already enormous thighs.
When the embers finally cooled, and I came to my senses, I looked in the mirror and was horrified to discover that all the work that you and I had accomplished was gone! POUF! Just like that, two months of unchecked carnal desires for sinful cuisine had erased it all.
So this letter is a heartfelt apology, my faithful, loving Mr. Diet. Please, please, oh won’t you PLEASE forgive my evil, selfish ways? If I promise to stop cheating on you, will you please take me back? If I promise to stop eating Blue Bell when no one is looking, will you please take me back?
You are the only one for me. I realize that now. Sometimes it takes a significant loss (of pounds) before we realize what we had. If we could just start over again, and try to rekindle our love, I just know you will be proud of me again. I’ll even go back to the evil torture and embarrassment of the gym. I would do that for you, my love.
I’ll even go back to tofu and sprouts, if that’s what you require. Anything for you. I added your number back, so I’ll stay up late tonight waiting anxiously for your text reply while I eat one last bowl of Mocha Almond Fudge Marshmallow Crème Butt Explosion. I promise it’s the last one.*
P.S. I love you.
*Disclaimer: This statement may or may not be taken literally. I may have been writing under the influence of too many Starbucks Frappacinos. I cannot be held responsible for promises I may or may not have made in this letter. Void where prohibited.