The Cupcake Diet

I recently read an article by Jillian Michaels that talked about the difficulty of dropping vanity pounds. Vanity pounds are pounds we want to lose, but our bodies don’t think we need to lose.

Because we’re made for survival.

Not appeal.

If we were vehicles we’d be Winnebagos.

“Survival” is what keeps those love handles lovin’ a lil longer and holdin’ a lil’ tighter. You never know when you’ll only be one cupcake away from starvation. Those cupcake pounds could be the ticket to making it to 16th place on Survivor. You won’t get to win the million dollars but you do get $2,500 and scurvy.

Sadly the only way to lose those pounds is good old fashioned diet and exercise. Of course dieting sucks. Not as bad as being hit in the face by a 10lb goose while riding a roller coaster. But it’s up there.

I’ve discovered that since turning 34 and having children, vanity pounds have appeared in foreign places where fat never went when I was 20. Though I greatly appreciate the warming insulation for winter, the summer reveal is just too much for my sense of self. And anyone else who can see.

These excess pounds are depressing. Frustrating. Downright aggravating. Generally at this point, most women—and by, “most women,”  I mean, “me”— would:

A. Wallow in self pity and eat a cupcake.
B. Get motivated to lose vanity weight. But enjoy one last cupcake before starting.
C. Set up a diet and exercise plan that highlights milestones. So one can reward themselves at each check point with a cupcake.

Let’s be honest.

Diet food is unrealistic.

And crazy.

Besides rabbits and fashion models, who fills up on lettuce? Everybody knows dieters can’t have dressing with a salad. Calories. Don’t even think about croutons or bacon bits. If it has flavor, it’s out. You just have to suck it up and eat your pile of weeds. Using only imagination for garnish.

Exercising is more realistic than dieting. But, it’s deceiving. After working out for forty-five minutes it’s natural to feel thinner. After all using the elliptical for an hour is a lot more work than eating an entire bag of Spicy Doritos in one sitting. And shouldn’t we be rewarded for our efforts? Instantly? Every time I finish a workout, I wait for a chunk of fat to fall off. Right there. On my floor. I actually wait. Then when it doesn’t, I get discouraged and go upstairs and eat 50 rice cakes. Because rice cakes are healthy and healthy is skinny. Being skinny is supposed to taste like hungry.

Now, I’m no a personal trainer. If I was, I’d be the only personal trainer who would not only encourage you to eat a Blizzard but would also drive you to Dairy Queen. And have one with you. Because I believe in indulgence.

This is why I’m a firm believer in the cupcake diet.

What is the cupcake diet?
The cupcake diet is a sweet, fluffy, high calorie, delicious disappointment.

How does it work?
I don’t diet. I just cut back on the amount of food I eat. Then, reward myself with a snippet of cupcake. So, if I take a small piece of cupcake, versus inhaling the whole cupcake in a single bite, I find that I don’t crave them as often.

What do you do when you aren’t on the cupcake diet?
I reward myself with a whole cake. Which is really just an overweight cupcake. If you think about it.

How do you sell yourself on this crap?
With a lot of denial and fluff. I prefer vanilla or buttercream fluff.

How can I also sell myself on this crap?
Just remember that a quarter of a cupcake doesn’t taste as good as a whole cupcake. But, it tastes better then no cupcake. And a quarter of a cupcake tastes good, but without the guilt or calories of the other three pieces.

So go ahead. Have a cupcake.

But just a bit.

Enjoy it.

If you get hit in the face by a gigantic bird you’ll be glad you did.

Originally posted at Christina’s blog