Seems like only yesterday my baby fat was born. Good god, how calories fly! It’s funny, my willpower and I had talked about having fat for some time. But we kept putting it off, putting it off, putting it off. Until one day, my willpower says to me, “Screw it. Let’s do this.” I can’t tell you how exciting it was! Yes I can. It was like a bloomin’ onion thrill-ride! The miracle of human fat hits you and your midsection like a ton of snack-sized Snickers! I mean, when you bring new life into your torso area, you can’t help but look down at your fat and think — I made this…it’s a part of me!
I still remember when we brought it home from the Chinese buffet that first night. I was full of joy and MSG, just cradling my newborn flab. And now, gee whiz. It’s like I turn my belly for one second, and my fat has grown up faster than America’s serving size! It wasn’t by accident, though. Haha! No, sir. I put a lot into it. Raising your own flesh and blood is not a job to take lightly. You have to nurture it. Constantly watch it. Sometimes hide it. I don’t want to take all the credit, but I’m absolutely going to — because I’m the sole reason my corpulent offspring has grown so rotund. Some like to call it genetic disposition. I call it “you better finish that.”
Ever since the birth of my fat, it’s been all about fostering growth. Some people don’t know this, but my little butterball was actually shy at first. In hindsight (and hind leg), all it needed was a morsel of momentum. Once my chicken fat spread its buffalo wings — hot dog, it soared to new rolls! Now, the older I get, the more it comes out of its shell and my shirts. I may have a slowing metabolism, but keeping up with fast food is a piece of cake!
I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve been pretty strict on my fat. No excess cardio of any kind. We lay off the fresh fruits and veggies. We set limits on lean meats. We don’t get carried away with water drinking. We establish barriers to prevent self-control. And we gave up moderation altogether. But know this: on special occasions, and holidays, and many of the normal days also, we eat like kings — ravenous, gluttonous kings.
Not to get all preachy on you, but it’s imperative in the development stage to let your fat be itself. Call it what you want – chubby, pudgy, tubby, chunky, husky — but you must give it ample space to be its fatso self. Or in other words, the autonomy to pig-out. It’s also critical that your fat is constantly stimulated. In order to mature, it needs those late night pasta feeds with endless breadsticks that truly never end.
Remember, fat simply craves your attention and replenishing omega-3 fatty acids. If you want to see your fat flourish, treat it with respect and high-fructose goodies. And if you really want to cultivate new blubber, role model how to persevere. My little bugger’s biggest achievements have come on account of not giving up. We always say, you’re never full unless it’s of excuses! And, no carb unturned! We say that, too.
The day my bulge really rounded the corner, I mean noticeably so, with a sweatshirt on even, was when we stopped keeping track. When we quit consuming “nutritious” food. It’s this world of “take care of yourself” and “live longer.” What. Ever. I say enough is enough (except in the case of food portions)! I say, fat is the future! Am I worried about my diabetes? A little. Am I going to do anything about it? Fat chance!
Having fat is simply breathtaking. You feel it in your gut. That it’s there, sticking out. I wouldn’t know what to do without my flaccid paunch. Like, what would I be doing right now? Would I not be polishing off a medium-sized bag of Doritos that I had no intention of opening? Would I not feel constantly fatigued and short of breath? I’ll never know. But neither will the people who don’t have fat in their life. My advice to someone without fat? Maybe it’s time you start investing in something bigger than yourself.