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Dear diet: It’s not me, it’s definitely you

Dear dieting,
It’s not me, it’s you. No, seriously.

Don’t get me wrong: You look great on paper. You’ve got the looks, the charm, the charisma and you make me feel like I can do anything. (Like choose grapes over chips. On purpose.) But, in real life, I’m just not that into you. Mostly because you turn me into this hangry, hormonal train wreck who would totally steal candy from a baby — especially if the candy were a cheeseburger.

When I’m on a diet, my friends and family invite me everywhere that doesn’t involve food (which, when you’re on a diet, is nowhere). Why? Because the look I get on my face when they’re eating chicken wings and I’m eating salad is way too Hannibal Lecter for them to handle
You know how if you lose one of your senses, others become more pronounced? My taste buds are so underutilized while spending time with you that I can tell exactly what my bestie had for lunch just by smelling her breath. (She hasn’t spoken to me in days, by the way.) And, when my body’s lost all sense of what it’s like to feel full, the people around me start to resemble the foods you tell me I can’t have — and the ones you ruin with all of your calorie shenanigans.