Now that I've gorged, stuffed, and swallowed all manner of guilty pleasures over the past month and a half, it's time to pay the diet piper. And there are plenty of commercials airing for my viewing pleasure with the promise of a lithe and lean figure if only I repent and join their particular weight-loss religion.
I want to repent, rejoice, and be saved by them all.
I'd love to be baptized by Jenny. Her food looks so delicious, how could I ever be deprived? Besides, as an added bonus, apparently I'll have men whistling at my form as I parade down the dark and dimly lit streets. Better yet, they'll stop to dance then flip me in the air where I'll do several summersalts, tumbling as light as a butterfly. *Sigh*
But... Lean's cuisine shows me commercials where diners moan and groan with a celibate pleasure as they describe last night's gastronomic indulgence. Their friends look on in envy. The diner's display of enthusiasm is near to a public orgasm. I want one of those.
At the Church of the Watched Weight, I'll hug and dance with my girlfriends, swim in the pool, and generally be happy to diet. Besides, everyone loves to collect Points.
Perhaps an offering of a pill will eliminate the need for food at all. Zantrex, Hydroxycut, Hoodia, or Trimspa. My choices are endless and tiny and so are the spokesperson/preachers.
All of these commercials hit the bullseye as far as I'm concerned. They aim straight for my biggest vulnerability, my vanity. When's the next meeting?