She has a cup of ice and allows her mother to pour bottled water over it; of course, before she drinks she checks the label for all the evil calories that could be lurking in a bottle of purified water.
It's okay to drink because it's so cold that processing it will burn more calories; these are the diet tricks and tips we all know.
Her mother drinks a regular drink from a regular cardboard cup - I know the taste of the emptiness of that ice water. When she stares over at me there is revulsion. I'm not fat, but I have breasts. I have substance. My hair is thick and shiny. I too drink coffee made with milk and containing sugar.
I'm grateful that she is, at least, drinking water. She even refills her glass by herself- well, sometimes it's better the devil you know. In the weight of the empty bottle I feel her fatigue.
I don't know the words to break through this mindset; I understand the trigger point, the need for control which spirals out of control. These are the martyrs to our excess, the conspicuous protesters.
I don't understand the sicknesses of our society.
2 days ago