Make Mine Mike

Today's gripe:

Can't I eat something in the presence of my co-workers without their commentary?

If I'm consuming some low-calorie cuisine, I get: "Oh, so healthy!" and, "No dressing on that salad?" or "Ooh, whatcha got there? A chicken breast? What kind of spices are those? You made that yourself?"

And if it's anything else: "You're having carbs?" or, "Ohh, I recognize that bag – Mike bought cookies!"

As if I committed a naughty crime.

Last year I lost a lot of weight and got myself in very good shape, so perhaps I've set some kind of example. People sometimes ask how I did it, and I simply tell them steady exercise and eating less. If they want, I'll give details about how I run and drink lots of water, etc. But as proud of the hard work I've put into this transformation, I don't brag about it; I support and encourage others if they discuss it, so I don't know why my dining habits are up for public scrutiny.

Most of these inanities come from the kooky receptionist, or the dopey file clerk. Like many Americans, these two are struggling to lose 20-30 pounds, an ongoing task that's often the topic of conversation. I completely understand the difficulties in dropping weight, especially when we all do boring office jobs that make our butts big and turn delicious food into a diversion from the daily grind. And I'd have even more sympathy if they had a congenital problem, a glandular thing. But I suspect some jealousy from them -- that I had the discipline to overcome the problem and they didn't.

When Kooky asked, "Oh, are you allowed to eat bagels?" (hovering over me as I'm trying to enjoy my toasted sesame seeds) I remind her I haven't been on any official diet, and yes, since I ran 11 miles this morning. Kooky complains that she has no time to exercise, or doesn't like it, or some excuse or other.

Dopey gives me a rundown of his workout regimen, how he went to the gym and did upper-body yesterday, lower-body the day before. But he eats triple portions of every snack that comes into the office, so his belt size has stayed as consistent as his dumb comments like, "Tsk, tsk, a candy bar?!" It's a protein bar, asshole, for lunch. And if I want a Snickers, who made you my personal trainer anyway, ya big-bellied hypocrite?

I tried to explain once to Kooky, who has a dog, and blames her widened figure on the time-consuming mongrel, that like a dog, I don't like being bothered when I eat (grrrr!). Please leave me alone and save the oohs and ahhs for Emeril's food, not mine. She said in her oh-so-annoying baby-girl voice, "But I wanna be like you, Mikey!"

Then get off your ass, take that mutt for a long walk and eat smart.

Or at least just shut the hell up about it.