Not a Diet Blog

Driving to Redlands from Seattle, my dad expressed his concern over my weight. I am aware that I'm overweight (how could I not be?) and I'm pretty much okay with it. My dad decided that being fat is both harmful to my health and essentially said that I'm eating myself to death and that being fat is just like being an alcoholic. And that he wants to help.

Expert negotiator that I am, I made the deal that I would work on my weight, as long as I didn't have to get any sass mouth about my short "boy" hair.

The thing is, I'll quietly change my eating habits, to an extent, but I don't want to fucking hear about dieting all the damn time. I feel like, having agreed to lose weight, I shouldn't be subjected to endless, unsolicited advice. My dad, apparently, disagrees.

Yesterday my dad told me that I should try to eat less bread and I about flipped my shit. My philosophy is that healthy eating includes eating foods that you like. For me, yes, this includes bread. I am eating so much less food and I have to hear about how I ate two fucking bread rolls with my dinner (of a hamburger--no bun--and steamed broccoli). Just because my dad is the King of Dieting doesn't mean I want to join the court.

I'm not really sure how to broach the subject of "let's not talk about it already" with my dad because he's going to be a pouting pony about it. It's like, gratitude or no deal.