A Woman's Relationship With Food

A Woman’s relationship with food can be even more complicated than her relationship with her mother, or for the married woman, more complicated than her relationship with her mother-in-law. Strange as it may seem, many of us feel like we need permission to eat. Just listen to a group of girls at a restaurant and you will see what I mean. More often than not, one of four strange rituals will occur: the justification, the confession, self flagellation or peer pressure.

With justification, a woman will actually present a whole freakin court case for why she is ordering french fries. Take my friend Gabby: " Well, I skipped breakfast today, then I walked to work, and all I had was a granola bar and a Diet Coke for lunch, and I’m getting a salad with low-fat dressing, so i guess I can order the fries, right?" Yea, sure, go ahead,

With confession, ordering french fries is some sorta sin of unrealistic proportions, it requires penance before even eating the fries. My friend Vanessa: "Damn. I am being so bad. I know I really shouldn’t be doing this. I mean, french fries are like the worst thing for you. Ugh! And I was so good all week. Okay, after this, ladies, I’m gonna do two whole hours on the stairmaster. And I’m walking home from the train instead of taking the bus."

Self-flagellation is more direct since it makes the direct link between ordering fries and a fundamental character flaw. "I am so freakin huge, I am just, like, craving french fries," says my girl Sara, "What can I say? I am a total fatass."

Peer Pressure can actually work one of two ways.

In the first scenario, a bunch of women will egg eachother on to order the french fries-even while some opt for salads and mineral water. " Get the frnech fries! Whats the big deal?" we’ll laugh, eager, and falsely dismissive, knowing damn well that the person we are trying to convince to break her diet is really a sacrificial lamb. If she orders the fries, she’ll enable the rest of us to feel superior for not giving in to our cravings, and of course so we can snatch fries off her plate- or live vicariously by watching her eat them.

In the second scenario, we agree mutually to absolve eachother of responsibility and guilt by ordering french fries as a coalition:

"Should we order some fries?"

"Sure, lets get french fries!"

"Why not? Let’s go all out! After all, its Friday!"

Complicated? Yezzir. The way we carry on about dumb shit like french fries, you’d think we were Hamlet. You’d think we were contemplating euthanasia. You’d think it was a career move. Military operations have been launched with less consideration than we give a menu.

Shit, think about it. If we spend this much time comtemplating over a menu, just imagine how much we comtemplate over men/relationships. If that much time is spent thinking about nonsensical stuff, when will we have time to actually enjoy it? Food for thought, right? PUN INTENDED.