Chubby Much?

All the hard work of the school year and all the stresses that come with it are leading up to one very important moment: summer vacation.




Any student who says summertime isn't a welcome breather from college life is either a liar or on drugs.



That's beside the point because this particular review is about the sad preconceived notion that a summer body has to be perfect in every way, shape and form.



Everywhere I look I see these depictions of what a person is supposed to look like in a swimsuit. On TV I see commercials selling pills and food promised to give you that perfect summer body. In my copy of Rolling Stone I see half-naked rock stars who are either looking fabulous or being ridiculed because they look average. And worst of all, I see students walking around campus who look really good in really tight clothes.



And then there's the rest of us.



Yes, I'm speaking of the average person whose life is dedicated to things other than dieting and working out.



Unfortunately, I've been spending the last few months trying to look fabulous for a summer cruise, and I can't for the life of me figure out how the beautiful people do it. I'm exhausted from eating low-fat, low-carb, low-calorie, gluten-free crap, and I'm exhausted from having to actually move my flabby butt out of my chair.



Now I've got no beef with those of you who have the wherewithal to fit in a wonderful exercise regimen as well as get good grades and go to work. I do have a beef with media outlets who demonize those of us who don't.



For every paparazzo who sneaks a picture of a celebrity's love handles and then plasters it on the front page of some two-bit tabloid, the editors of said tabloids should have to be paraded down St. George Boulevard, and every other boulevard in the nation for that matter, in nothing but Speedos. OK, and sports bras for the women.



I'd bet a dollar and a doughnut the majority of the tabloid terrorists wouldn't appreciate such exposure.



For telling us what we should look like, the media folks get a very special review: one dimple on each butt cheek every day for the next year. By the end of the year, the 730 dimples they'd sport might be enough of a punishment to remind them to stop telling us which body type is socially acceptable.



And one of my bigger pet peeves are the people who actually buy into all that jazz.



Picture this: I was in Wal-Mart purchasing something cheap when I noticed a beautifully big girl looking at one of the tabloid rags.



She was with a man of similar size who was either her husband or her boyfriend or her brother or perhaps all three. In any event, she said something to the effect of, "Oh my gosh, look at how fat Mariah Carey is."



You see, I think there's only one thing worse than believing the media should tell people how they should look in a swimming suit, and that's agreeing that everyone should look fabulous in a swimming suit except you.



I might have applauded this lady had she said something more like: "Why do these people think Mariah Carey is fat? I think she looks great."



I almost said to the lady, "You can't have your cake and eat it too," but that wouldn't have ended well.



Besides, I'm not the type of person to judge someone else on his or her weight. In fact, on the scale of rude, I think that's right up there with insulting someone's dead mother.



Don't be ashamed of who you are. If you've got it in you to put on a bathing suit and tell anyone who gives you a second look right where to go, then baby, I'm a fan of you.



In the mean time, I am still working up to that level. Looks like it's broccoli for dinner again.



Thanks, Rolling Stone.