You Won’t Like Me When I’m Hangry
February 28, 2014By Jillian Owens
February 28, 2014
Note: My editor has informed me that the MidlandsBiz site is having a few technical difficulties and that this article can’t have any photos in it. That’s okay! Let’s use our imaginations, shall we? Instead of posting a photo, I’ll just tell you what photo I would have posted and you can pretend it’s there! It’ll be fun!
When my friends and I decided to go on a cruise, I was stoked (and I don’t use that word often). In just a couple of weeks, I’ll be living a life of leisure – drinking and eating everything in sight whilst frolicking on gorgeous beaches with white sand and water so clear you don’t even stop to contemplate its bacterial content!
I was ready. My vacation wardrobe was all picked out. I just needed one thing– one thing I had been putting off–Swimwear.
[INSERT RANDOM GRATUITOUS STOCK SWIMWEAR PHOTO]
I haven’t purchased swimwear in years. When I travel, it’s so I can eat amazing foods and explore fun cities. I’m too much of a wanderer to enjoy lounging around on a beach for very long. My five-year-old bikini only comes out of my dresser drawer for about one pool party per year, or to be covered up by shorts and a tank top when I go kayaking.
But this was different. As total strangers were about to see at least 80% of my body for a large quanitity of time, I wanted to make sure I looked awesome. And this is why I made the terrible decision that spawned into other more terrible decisions…I decided to try on swimwear in the Target dressing room.
You might not think this is a big deal. It seems like a simple enough process. I would choose several contenders for my cruisewear off the rack, enter a dressing room to try them on, and three would make the cut. No big deal, right?
Wrong.
Oh so wrong.
As I disrobed, I was absolutely appalled by what I saw. What the hell had happened to me? I always thought I had an alright body. I mean, I’m no supermodel, but I eat fairly healthily and I do yoga. But what was this hideous creature in the mirror before me? My skin looked splotchy and marbly, and my body was lumpy, pale, and full of cellulite. I looked like a piece of cauliflower that somehow gained sentience. I pulled my stomach in (for whose benefit?!?) as I stared in abject horror. I was being judged by the harsh overhead fluorescent lighting of truth, I was being measured, and I was found wanting.
[INSERT PHOTO OF ME AWKWARDLY SOBBING IN A DRESSING ROOM CORNER]
“Good God, I’m hideous,” I said aloud, which was met with a snicker from the dressing room clerk. Nothing was purchased that day.
I left feeling completely gross and disgusted with myself. With the cruise being only 3 weeks away, I had to take action! But I was almost out of time. Killing it at the gym wasn’t going to yield fast enough results. Fine, I thought. I’ll just go on a diet.
One small meal a day. That was it. That was all I was allowed to have. This wasn’t easy. Butter, cheese, bread, creamy sauces, and carbs are my best friends. If I could find a man who looked at me the way I look at Gruyere, my love life would be set. But I stuck to it. When friends asked me why I was hardly eating, I’d say things like, “Oh I just ate earlier,” (lie), “I’m a really light eater,” (anyone who knows me knows that’s a lie), or “I’m just not hungry,” (big mondo lie).
[INSERT PHOTO OF CRAPPY SIDE SALAD THAT DOESN’T EVEN HAVE ANY MEAT OR CHEESE OR DRESSING ON IT, AND IS THEREFORE TERRIBLE]
One week passed. I was miserable. I couldn’t concentrate. I started getting headaches. I was tired all the time. My skin looked dry, and my eyes looked listless. I started being pretty awful to be around. I was cranky. Traffic was rage-inducing, and I was ready to bite anyone’s head off (for sustenance) who rubbed me the wrong way.
Finally, a friend asked me, “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting really weird. Are you mad about something?” I told him everything…the dressing room, the miserable crash diet, that I was tired and desperately craving a sandwich, and that life without cheese isn’t really a life at all.
“I’m not angry. I’m just hungry…which is making me angry. I’m hangry.”
As I explained all of this, I kept thinking, Do you realize how completely stupid you sound right now?
My friend reassured me that what I was doing was idiotic and dangerous, that I looked fine, and that I shouldn’t worry about what a bunch of random strangers who are just there to have a good time thought of my physique. I was reminded of the basic properties of light, especially that of harsh fluorescent light on the female form.
I decided it just wasn’t worth it anymore.
I proceeded to eat a burrito the size of a baby and called the cruise crash diet off.
[INSERT PHOTO OF MASSIVE BEEF BURRITO WITH EXTRA SOUR CREAM, EXTRA GUACAMOLE, AND EXTRA CHEESE]
Stop drooling on my imaginary burrito photo, will you?