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Junk Food
"Society would not be telling me to eat junk if I am supposed to look like a model."
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By Tadina Ross
It’s 2:30 am and I wake up for a late night snack. As I open the fridge, I’m torn between the low fat raspberry yogurt and the Chunky Monkey ice cream. Most of the time, the monkey is my man.
I grew up in an organic household where everything I ate was good for me, so it’s not my upbringing that’s making me reach for the fat. I could blame society, but I’m always complaining about how being beautiful means being a waif model and not a curvaceous muse.
Society would not be telling me to eat junk if I am supposed to look like a model. I’m by no means obese, fat, or even close, but my junk food tendencies scare me. One day my youth and metabolism will drain, and all I’ll have left is my bad eating habits and a refrigerator full of Chunky Monkey.
It’s my body, I only have one. Junk food has its moments of bliss, but eventually, heart ache - or a heart attack for that matter - will come in surrendering to those bitter sweet indulgences.
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