In My Perfect World

Budapest, Pest, Hungary, Eastern Europe, Europe
Budapest, Pest, Hungary, Eastern Europe, Europe

I had a talk with God. I've spoken with Him countless times, but this time we had a two way conversation. I explained that I am fed up with counting calories, fiber,= and fat grams; sick of sugar substitutes, watery milk and imitation butter that lies in my frying pan like a blob and refuses to melt. I told Him I've had it up to here with boring walks to nowhere on my "dreadmill," and horrendous fashions offered to women size 14 and over. I confessed that on more than one occasion I've contemplated breaking the sixth commandment for chocolate, and the only meaningful praying I've done takes place on my bathroom scale. I told Him I've been fighting an uphill battle for five decades and am looking to Him for hope that one day things will be easier.

God mulled over my words.

"OK," He said. "If you promise to continue your struggle, but without your usual attitude, I'll consider doing something I've never done before. After you die, I will allow you to return to earth in any form you want."

"That sounds great!"

What would I be? A Pulitzer prize-winning author? The next Mother Theresa? An astronaut? Slender?"

Of course. Slender. No one is more valued and admired than a runway model.

I thought about it for several days and realized I wasn't happy with that plan after all, so I summoned God again.

"Now what?" He asked.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful, God, but I've been thinking about what we discussed, and I realize rather than returning slim, I'd like is to come back overweight."

God's eyebrows furrowed. "Do you know what you're saying?"

"Absolutely. I've given this a lot of thought."

"OK then. You want to come back as a fat person."

"Well, actually, I would like one thing more... if You don't mind."

"I'm already sorry. Make it fast; I've got real problems to attend to."

"I'd like to return as a fat person, in a world where fat people are admired, adored, respected and even lusted over."

"You're kidding, right? That would require Me to change public opinion around the country. This is going to more difficult than I signed on for."

"Please. Oh, please. It's not just for me. Millions of people struggle with weight. You'll make them very happy if You do this."

"Fine! You'll return to earth as a fat person, in a nation where most of the population is overweight. Hmmmmm. That's not very different from the way things are now. But everyone's perception will have changed."


"Okay, I have 950 trillion prayers and complaints to acknowledge so let's call this a wrap."

"Thank you. I won't bother You again."

I fantasized about sitting in a diner with a corpulent friend, scoffing down hot fudge sundaes with syrupy walnuts and whipped cream, trying not to stare at Ms. Size Four in a nearby booth, picking at her dressing-free salad.

"Has she no self-respect?" I ask my friend, as I reach across the table and wipe syrup from her chin. "Surely she knows that eating a salad puts her at risk for losing weight. Either she has no willpower or she doesn't care."

At a cocktail party, I devour a tray of hors d'oeuvres that I seize from a passing waiter. I stuff my pockets with petit fours and truffles, and chug-a-lug pina coladas straight from the bartender's blender.

I pull my chair up to the buffet table and wolf down everything in sight while grimacing at a tall willowy model-type in a slinky red Versace gown sipping a Perrier and nibbling celery stalks. She is surrounded by a group of slacken-jawed men, who stare at her, afraid.

How sad, I think. Such a pretty face. She would be a knock-out if she just gained 75 pounds.

On the back of everyone's driver's license, fat would be included with organ donations. What better than a gift of fat?

Turnstiles and airplane seats would accommodate Overweight people, Victoria's Secret would offer lacy, sexy, industrial strength bras, and "one size fits all" designers would be jailed for false advertising.