Amid the frantic goodbyes, goody-bag distribution, jacket-locating, happy birthday wishes, and general post-sugar-consumption mayhem, I saw Bea approach the buffet table again. She was staring at the cookie plate. I pushed my way through the crowd, calling out to her. “Bea! What are you doing?” I said, raising my voice above the din.

“If she’s hungry, she can have some salad”

I am apoplectic with rage reading this excerpt from the “book” written by that dipshit who put her 7-year-old daughter on a diet. To (mis)quote Parenthood:

“You know, Mrs Buckman, you need a license to buy a dog, to drive a car, hell, you need a license to catch a fish! But they’ll let any butt-reamin’ asshole be a [parent].”

(via clambistro)

i am so impossibly angry about this i can’t even. genuinely fist clenchingly mad that someone thought the best way to deal with their “obese” (if the girl in the photos was 7 kilos heavier, she still wouldn’t be even fat, really) daughter was to teach her that she had to be on a diet for the rest of her life. as someone who tends to only lose weight when i eat next to nothing (i lost 3 kilos when i had my wisdom teeth out last year & was living on mashed potato and tea, that’s the most weight i’ve lost on any diet in years), i just…UGH NOPE I’M SO MAD I CAN’T ARTICULATE WHAT I WANT TO SAY BUT FUCK. NO.