Guestwords

Fulfillment

Church is guilt. Food is guilt. Wouldn't it be easier if they had a combined menu so one could make a manageable decision about which burden to wrestle with?

Now that the holidays are said and done, I've observed something about my seasonal behavior. I didn't participate in a single religious event and I overate.

But I'm still eyeing that size eight Oscar de la Renta chartreuse bathing suit with hope, and, if I'm being honest, I'm still on a mission for spiritual fulfillment, which is what I'm addressing today.

Once A Catholic . . .

In my diet group, we always start off with goals, so if I think about my ideal religious experience, I guess it would be to click with the Unitarians. Fat-free church. No lipids. Option to work out, or not to work out. It's all good.

This would be the exact opposite of how I was raised. My religious upbringing was analogous to an Italian sausage appetizer, washed down with a glass of buy-it-by-the-gallon table wine, as the lasagna baked in a bed of ricotta cheese, the scent reaching down into my newly lined stomach. This was finished with an array of jumbo cannolis, and other puffed pastry demons.

I was Catholic. And what they say about once a Catholic, always a Catholic is true. My low-cal recipes are my rosary beads, and I'm always reminding myself, "Thou shalt not eat that doughnut whilst I remember the personal trainer bill this month."

Guilt-Free Diet

My friend, Elsie, is a Buddhist. Ha, now there's a crash diet for you. Just fast, my friend. Sure, no guilt, but as I pass out on the floor realizing how tedious the whole ordeal is, will Elsie revive me with promises to take me to Maxim's before I die? Because, honestly, I'm no damn saint, and the chances of me reaching enlightenment are slim to none, so why wonder?

And all those cults. Well, I can tell you now, there's no way I could engage in whatever on-the-sneak business they do. I mean, that is one big midnight, fatso-in-the-refrigerator-lights experience. Ben and Jerry. Ring Dings. Ho Hos, the big no-no's. Uh uh.

Reincarnation

Now, the Congregationalists, they're an interesting bunch. Their menu looks something like this: For a starter, we'll have the baby greens, with a lite lemon vinaigrette. Our entree this Sunday morning will be a roasted saffron chicken, finishing with a raspberry torte. There are a lot of Congregationalists at my spa and they seem well-balanced. I might give that a try.

But, thinking about Buddhism, there is that chance for reincarnation, so maybe the starvation is worth it. God knows I have my order placed in that department. I'd like to come back in a sleek body, no winking cellulose dimples, and where there is mush, I'd like it to be firm, like a nice hunk of Jarlsberg atop a roast beef sandwich.

Heather Won Tesoriero teaches language arts at the Ross School, where she is writer-in-residence. She has previously contributed to The Star.