I should start by outing myself: I'm fat. Not heavy-set or big-boned. I've got a pretty good-sized gut on me. Got it in grad school, lost it while running and converting to vegetarianism, and then got it back when vegetarianism was found compatible with beer, popcorn and a mushroom-and-green-olive pizza and the knees gave out. (For those of you who say "swim!" I say, I hate swimming. Same 50 yards, over and over, and can't listen to Doves to kill the boredom. And I'd rather have a breathing tube than share a shower with strangers.)

So it turns out people are studying me. I'm delighted. Except it appears that the studies are mostly about women who are, um, horizontally challenged, and don't like being told that additional pounds will reduce longevity. Big Arm Woman speaks for me by observing:

I have reached critical ennui with the whole "omgwtfbbq women should/shouldn't work/have kids/write vagina monologues/vote a certain way" debate, because it dawns on me that the debate isn't really about women anymore so much as it's about the fact that we all think happiness is a fundamental right, and one that we shouldn't have to work or sacrifice for.

We live in a world that is tragic, that makes us choose between eating food that tastes good and a 34 waist (at least in my case, the only diet that works is simply stated as "if it tastes good, spit it out." Or as my uncle used to say, "what you need is a few less push ups and a few more push aways.) These are the choices faced since God sent Man packing from Eden.

And to think people say apples are health food.

Thanks to Candace de Russy for the link.