I would like to thank TiredOfYourWeight@WhosTheNextIdiot.com for the email you just sent reminding me that I'm overweight. How did you find me? Were you there when I used emergency money to buy girl scout cookies? When I dove between the sofa cushions because I thought I saw a French fry? When I ran past you in my bathing suit at the pool and took out three toddlers? How do you people know that I want to lose weight, need money transferred from Nigerian royalty, and have been looking everywhere for a fake Rolodex? Baffling.
So, Mister TiredOfYourWeight, I appreciate that you took time in the middle of the night to send me this urgent email to share your weight loss secret that is sure to revolutionize the world and to give me the opportunity to buy into it before anyone else. I am flattered that you spend so much time and energy caring about strangers. I wish you would spend the same amount of time learning to spell and removing the strands of gibberish in your heartfelt message which, until I speak in tongues, I am unable to translate. I'm sure you mean well, but I don't need the revolutionary answer to instant weight loss. You see, I already know the answer, and have known it for years. In fact, it really hasn't been much of a secret since 4th grade biology. Eat less than you are, exercise more than you are, and you will lose weight. Shocking I know. Knowing what to do isn't the secret. It's doing it.
You see, I would rather drink lumpy shakes made out of goat's urine, strap thirty pounds of spandex to my body, and spend thousands on hairdos, clothes, and accessories guaranteed to make me look a size smaller. I would rather have my colon flushed and take diet pills that cause hair loss, fainting spells, and the unavoidable explosive diarrhea. But don't make me eat vegetables - that's just gross. I want those programs where you actually pay more to eat less. I would rather spend hours reading manuals from experts claiming it's not the quantity but the combinations of foods- just don't mix the brown Snickers with the tan French fries and you're fine.
I want to sit around perplexed saying, "But I don't eat that much" and convince myself that I must have some rare thyroid condition and that everybody's order contains the word Supersize. I want to buy exercise tapes that I'm too lazy to open and fancy treadmills to hold my plants, rather than park at the back of the parking lot and take the stairs. I am not interested in the kind of exercise where I am involved. I don't even want to get up to change the TV. I once watched a twenty-four hour Valerie Bertinelli marathon because I couldn't find the remote. I would rather sit around with a group of other overweight people and have them tell me size doesn't matter and look at skinny people in disgust and hope they're miserable.
So I do know the secret to weight loss, Mr. TiredOfYourWeight. Perhaps if you could come up with a revolutionary way to do the things we don't want to do. Now that I would read. So thanks but no thanks. I would, however, be interested in a way to earn a million in a week without ever having to get dressed or leave my house. Do you have a cousin who does that?
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