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I’ve been told by my personal trainer, Sister Serena Scatterpin, Renegade Sisters of Mary (who’s taken it upon herself to look out for my spiritual AND recreational needs) that there’s a Jaybird beach near Saugatuck where the over-60s set can let it all hang out relatively unmolested.
Bless you, Sister. (And Father Everhope, thanks for the offer of cottage, Knights of Columbus Beach Bingo blanket, infrared binoculars, lasso, and Nearest Occasions of Sin maze map.)
While I don’t have Michigan relatives to worry about (at least none who’d bother molesting me for whatever reason of sharing family tree branches) I do need to shed 20 pounds if I’m to make an impression that reflects well on BTL staff — all of whom I’m told look good in various stages of undress (and some look good in dresses on stage).
The problem is choosing a quickie-weight-loss diet. (There are dozens of slowies, including the “Five Year, Ten Pounds Thinner Plan”.) I need something that guarantees two-pounds-per-day, with peppy bulk additives, aggressive carb blockers, and user-friendly appetite suppressants (allowing for an occasional pizza slice with five-choices, a second creme brule, and liberal Godiva apres-diner mints).
The Well-Fed Gay Man’s Quickie Thong Diet.
When I was 18 I weighted 175 lbs, and my classmates called me Slim (among other things). I looked Grade A in my White Goddess ensemble: a cream-colored V-neck sweater, Pat Boone eggshell-color bucks, bleached 30″ Levi’s and a ducktail haircut. When I hit 40 head on, yielding tailspin to 50, I weighed 240 lbs, which — with 6′ 2″ height, 36″ waist, rainbow-colored suspenders, and duct tape — I managed to carry well, without untoward duress, sag, or adverse public comment, in and out of my size 13, triple-E high heels.
Today I’ve bottomed to 200 [lbs]; but if I’m going to Jaybird about at Saugatuck — bare it all for old time’s sake — 180’s my goal. “Don’t sweat it,” encourages Sister Scatterpin (watching me finish my 25th sit up of the week). “The nice thing about being over the hill — or down in the dunes — is that you don’t have to look eager, just wind-blown. And mind the sand fleas. If you get my drift.”
I do. And while we’re on the subject of diets and dune buggies, it’s come to my attention that there are several books making the rounds these days for the John-the-Baptist, locust-and-wild-honey, forty-days-in-the-wilderness, weight-shedding, GOP (Gospel of Pounds) true believers of America.
Permit me to call a truce in the ongoing Cultural Wars between the heavies (them) and the lites (us) in the true oxymoronic spirit of “weight loss gains.” These are on the bestseller lists says a blurb posted on the ReligionNewBlog: “The Maker’s Diet,” “The Hallelujah Diet,” “Body by God,” and [please take a seat in the pew], “What Would Jesus Eat?”
Don Colbert, a Florida doc, is the “WWJE?” impounder. He says his book “is a way of putting backbone into weak-willed dieters who let the flesh rule them and they’re eating anything they want [naughty!]. We’re making them accountable. Many people will not eat the right kinds of food [wicked!] unless they’re held accountable and before they put something in their mouths ask: ‘Would Jesus eat this?” [Hint: Never ask it at La Shish.]
To be truthful, Don, not unless it was deli kosher.