Food, glorious food

I have had this condition since birth and blame my mother for eating such yummy foods when she was pregnant with me.

I am sure that I’m not the only person who suffers from this ailment, in fact anyone who doesn’t like food should probably see a doctor.

I know I have a problem because every time I come home to deliciously home-cooked meals, I do a little happy dance.

It doesn’t help that I am a journo either. Do you know how much free food we get?

If it’s not free food it’s free merchandise or tickets to concerts and other fun events, which have food 99% of the time.

The food is usually good, and if you are lucky you will eat in the VIP section and get a chance to stuff your face silly.

Before I worked for this paper I was an intern at a women’s magazine.

Every event I was invited to had a three course meal, unlimited beverages and a goodie bag that would make all your friends green with envy.

The irony was that none of the girls who were there seemed to worry about their weight, everyone was happily eating their free food.

Those movies you see about how fashion magazine girls starve themselves are nothing but lies.

Food is loved by the masses, models and fancy editors included.

After a few months of red velvet cake, restaurant reviews and unannounced outings with my editor, the bulge started to show.

This did not stop me or come in the way of my affair with food.

Oh no, instead I started to look forward to every event and even imagined what would be on the menu.

Some days I would look at my new curvy hips and fuller face and think, ‘No worries babe, I’ll jog all of this off someday’.

Sounds crazy, but it is so true, I love me some good food.

Fast forward six months and I work with the most amazing set of women who find it very necessary to feed me.

Anna, our office mom, always brings back treats from her jobs and my editor just handed me the most delicious cupcake ever.

(Imagine, I’m writing about food and she is offering me a cupcake right this instant. See what I mean?)

Then there is my precious Ntswaki, who has become the sister I never had.

That women is dangerous because all she does is feed me, if she has lunch she will call me into the kitchen for a bite.

In winter she would bring us vetkoek and cold meat to warm us inside. How could I say no to that?

I shouldn’t really stress, people have serious problems out there like not being able to eat.

Or eating and not being able to enjoy the food because their taste buds have given up on them.

I guess the only time that I will stop enjoying food is the day a special door needs to be made in my house so I can be rolled out to the nearest McDonald’s.

Until then, I will put this very beautiful and fully functional mouth of mine to good work.

PS: Next time I cover your event, please set aside a plate for me, extra beef stew and no beetroot. Thank you in advance.