Dear Growling Stomach

Article by Kat Healy
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July 25, 2012
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Dear Growling Stomach,

Shut Up.

Okay, okay, I’m sorry; that was rude. I would be a little more polite, but honestly, you’re being a little too needy for this girl. I don’t want to call you clingy, but the grumbling… I mean, I get it, you’re hungry, but it’s only 9 a.m., is that really an excuse to whine?

Let’s tackle some of the things that keep me up at night. Why did you decide to voice your opinions while I sat next to the cute boy with a beard? Do you know how many cute boys are in an English class that aren’t experiencing sexual orientation dilemmas or have mother issues? Let me tell you. One. And he has a beard, and was wearing flannel and wasn’t skinnier than me. He was like a lumberjack sent from the heavens, and the day he decides to sit next to me, you decide to howl in a moment of silence. Maybe you were trying to help, maybe you were trying to get me noticed, but really, that wasn’t the type of attention I was going for.

Look, I know this isn’t just you. I’ve made some mistakes in the past too. I know it was my fault I didn’t feed you this morning. It’s not because I don’t care about you, but I simply didn’t have the time. It’s the same excuse you’ve heard before, I get it. I won’t bore you with how I overslept, missed my alarm, and had to sprint across the green like a chicken with his head cut off. (Get it? Cause we’re the BLUE HENS.) I didn’t even have time to tweet about how late I was. But honestly Stomach, as if everyone couldn’t already tell I’m a total mess from my hair - channeling the trashion icon known as Ke$ha - or from the lack of support I’m feeling from forgetting to put on a bra today. No, no, no. That wasn’t good enough for you, was it? You decided to scream “this girl overslept and didn’t eat because she was up late last night watching YouTube videos of cute kittens because she’s single and lonely! Her biological clock is ticking louder than I’m grumbling!”

You’re my stomach. You’re supposed to be on my side, or inside, or whatever. Despite the fact that sorority girls might be backstabbing, their stomachs seem to be pretty loyal. They aren’t revealing that they ate a Buffer Zone at 3 a.m. to the class. Their stomachs are behaving the way a young lady’s stomach is supposed to behave. Quietly. Sure, they probably eat French Danishes, wake up with enough time to converse with birds, squirrels, and other Disney-approved wildlife on their way to class, but c’mon, help a sister out.

We both know I’m not smooth. I’ve tried coughing to cover your loud obnoxious ways, but these people are probably thinking, “Oh this girl is on the early stages of an eating disorder, she can’t control her stomach yet.” I don’t even look anorexic; we can thank my hips for that. So thank you stomach because now people may think I’m failing at having an eating disorder. Greaaaaattt.

Well, if you think you’re going to get the last word in, you’re sadly mistaken. I plan on silencing you. French toast, with syrup, cinnamon and butter are waiting for me thanks to my Paula Deen-channeling roommate. I’ll apologize to my hips later.

Yours truly,

Kat