By Ann Brown
I am giving up white bread. And white rice. And all white food.
And, please, don’t go writing in to tell me how you gave up white food and now you are happy and healthy and bluebirds braid your hair in the morning. I am not interested.
I’m not doing this to look better. That particular ship sailed in, like, 1973. And it isn’t coming back unless I find a quarter million under my pillow and go in for a complete rehaul. And even then.
I’m not even doing this to feel better, which is the lie everyone tells everyone when they start eating healthier. Please. If you look like shit, you don’t care if you feel like gold.
I’m doing this because it finally got to me. This whole grains only scheme has been insinuated into our reality for so long, and touted so highly, that it just seems the thing to do. I guess when a ridiculous concept becomes widely accepted, it stops feeing ridiculous even though it totally is. Like the concept of Sara Palin running for President. Or the concept of rehab. Or women’s suffrage.
So, white is out in 2014. Whole grain is the new white.
Wade, did you hear that?
I am going to take this even a step further. I will be switching out all my white friends and replacing them with whole grain friends. White people just sit in your gut and make you feel bloated and gassy. Plus, when I start hanging with white people, I can’t just stop at one. Also, I think they raise my blood sugar level. What with their stollen and coffee cake and shit.
I expect huge dramatic changes when I make the switch to whole grain. I expect my novels will be published. I expect there will be no traffic on HIghway 43 coming in from Lake Oswego at rush hour. I expect Republicans will stop obstructing every fucking thing that is good for our country. After all, Republicans are pretty white. And bloated and gassy.
Out with white. Out with white.
Uh oh. That means no bagels. Fuck.
Yeah, I know about whole grain bagels and all the permutations thereof. But a whole grain bagel is about as comforting as a German accent in a room of Jews. Maybe I should start with merely limiting the number of bagels I eat. Instead of eating the entire dozen, I could eat, say, seven at one sitting.
And then go jogging.
To Germany. With Repulicans.
And then go to rehab.
2014 is gonna be awesome.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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