“The 5:2” is a stupidly on-trend gong-show that involves eating basically nothing for two, yes TWO, days a week. And then eating whatever the slutty fuck you want for the other five.
This diet, my properly satiated friends, is SO UNCOOL.
Two times a week I’m forced to watch the BF count out sugar snaps (0.4 calories per sugar snap), coriander (1 calorie per sprig), miso soup (20 calories per bowl) and half a boiled egg (35 calories, guess who had to eat the other half).
His meals – if you can even call them that – are pitiful: murky water with watery vegetables and maybe watery celery sticks for dessert. It breaks my little heart.
Especially when he slurps appreciatively and makes “mmmm” noises. Don’t try and fool me pal, I know you’re ready to eat food like a donkey eating a pancake.
This is followed by post-murky water grumpiness. Never piss off someone who’s reaching the end of a fast day – they are ready for blood. (Most likely because they’re so diabolically hungry that slicing your neck and drinking the juicy, red goodness that would gush out seems like a good idea).
Don’t risk it. My strategy is to appease, agree and smile like a fool from the corner.
And then come the non-fast days.
Bacon! Sausages! Potato skins! NACHOS! LET’S DEEP-FRY?!
Thanks for making ME fat on your binge-days. Why can’t we just eat a little less and a little better every day?! Because the 5:2 is projected to win the next election – EVERYONE is doing this diet. I’m sick of hearing about it.
The other day, while literally inhaling baskets of salt and pepper squid in a Vietnamese restaurant (it was a non-fast day), the four lads next to us we’re banging on about their half-a-chicken-breast meals. Yeah – you’re cool. And then they actually started asking each other whether their stomachs were looking a little smaller.
Hang on, someone’s calling –
IT’S AN EATING DISORDER.
The 5:2 is basically an open invitation to anorexia. The online support for people calorie counting on their fast days is scary. I’ve seen the drive in people’s eyes when they’re saying NO to food. I’ve seen the look of success on faces when they’ve practically starved themselves for 24 hours. Vile.
But the WORST part of it is the self-righteousness of the 5:2. Listen love – just because you’ve denied your body the nutrients it needs for two days, don’t try and make me feel bad about it OK?!
If I want to eat a foot-long rocky road bar from the Tesco round the corner, I’m gonna.
I might slowly shove its phallic-shaped, chocolaty, sugary goodness into my mouth. Maybe I’ll even eat the whole foot in one go. Or maybe I’ll head to the bathroom, lie down and spread it all over my body. Just maybe.
I live in hope, because soon enough, some scientists are going to debunk the 5:2 as a load of fluff, nothing but hot air. Which coincidentally is what my BF had for dinner last night.
Remember the Atkins? HA!
The 5:2 will be joining it soon in that big, dusty box labelled FADs. Until then, I’ll be forced to watch on in horror/pity. It makes me sick to my (full) stomach… which loves me by the way, and purrs delightedly when I give it balanced meals of vegetables, meat and carbs.
<3 my carbs <3