Laughing Matters: The One About Biggification

By Ryan G. Van Cleave |  Illustrations by Darcy Kelly-Laviolette

March 2021—

There are times in one’s life where situations well beyond your control result in an unintended alteration of one’s corporeal dimensions. Alright, let’s call it what it is. Weight gain. And isn’t it strange how certain life situations have nearly mandatory weight repercussions baked right into them?

• The Freshman Fifteen at every US college and university. (It’s hidden in the fine print of the tuition bill.)
• The Harry Potter Movie Marathon Engorgio Eight (I blame you, Orville Redenbacher!)
• The Great British Baking Show’s net loss of six pounds. (Okay, okay. British cooking isn’t ALL awful. I hear Dampfnudel is a zero-sum eating situation.)

Well, I’m forced to report that I’ve recently suffered the latest incarnation of weight-related life experiences. Thanks to my COVID-influenced sedentary lifestyle, I am +10 pounds from where I was in March 2020.

Okay, okay. 15. 

FINE! It’s 19 pounds!

Hey…wait a second…+19 pounds…and they call it COVID-19? Very suspicious. Or diabolically clever. Either way, it’s a little “on the nose.” Or in my case, “in the belly.”

In any case, regardless of the actual weight gain amount—which I’ve chosen to challenge all the way to the Supreme Court if I have to since I don’t fully believe what my scale is telling me—I’ve decided to Do Something About It. What’s my plan, you ask? I’m going to write about it Right Here in the pages of my monthly column.

Sadly, a little Internet sleuthing informs me that I’m only burning up 12 calories per hour through typing, so I’d need to write, oh, 1,340,874 pages or so to make a real dent in my bonus heftiness.

Clearly, I need a more robust plan.

Enter red dishes. Yes, it’s true—the color of one’s dinner plates has a scientifically proven relationship to appetite, so claims Dr. Internet. What color makes you eat less? Red, of course. Because red is the color of caution. And stopping. And the Atlanta Falcons, whose level of ineptitude is enough for ANYONE to lose their appetite.

And if Operation Red Dish doesn’t do the trick, I have three backup plans which have all been certified as “Entirely Realistic” by the BackUp Plan Keepers’ International Society—you might know this fine organization by their acronym, BUPKIS.

In any event, here are my plans, presented to you in order of awesomeness. 

Backup Weight Loss Plan 1—Netflix. I’m going to bingewatch every episode of “Nailed It!” Surely witnessing that many kitchen disasters is enough to curb the taste buds. I mean, have you seen the “Jungle Bungle” episode? Warning: it contains jam-filled animal treats and a coffee cake shaped (more or less) like a sloth.

MMMMmmmmmmm…jam-filled animal treats….

In the event that I get too caught up watching “Cobra Kai” instead, I’ve got other options, such as…

Backup Weight Loss Plan 2—Bruno Mars. Yes, the Hawaiian songster is already an inspiration to us all, but I plan to go all Napoleon Dynamite and memorize the entire dance routine to “Uptown Funk” and then perform it for the family of ducks living in the pond behind my house. Why limit my efforts to the ducks? It’s because my family doesn’t believe I have “dance chops,” so they don’t get to appreciate the fruits of my funkalicious skills.

Now if I only knew where to get a white fedora like Bruno’s got in that video…and maybe a pink sport coat, too. 

The more I think about it, the more I’m realizing that maybe this Bruno Mars dance plan has too much of a wardrobe commitment. I mean, I look great in hats and all, but, you know—fashion’s hard!

Thankfully, I have one more option!

Backup Weight Loss Plan 3—Mirrors. Like two hundred of them. Enough such that I can shrinkify myself as needed, upon demand, from any angle or vantage point.

Anyone got the number for Criss Angel, David Copperfield, or David Blaine? I think I might need some expert guidance here on the midriff misdirect, or the slight of hand stomach.

As much as I think that my weight loss plans are truly slimtastic, I’m starting to suspect it might be easier to just grow taller. (Do they make Miracle-Gro for people?) Or make everyone else shorter. (Note to self: Enlist Lex Luthor to create gravity-bolstering machine that only I am immune to.)

If COVID-related weight problems are plaguing you too but you’ve come up with a solution that involves: (a) eating Viennese Whirls, (b) napping at least five times a day, (c) binge-watching Criminal Minds with French subtitles, or (d) working on a frog-hero thriller novel set in an aquatic version of Las Vegas, hit me up immediately—I can be reached at stillmunching@sarasotascene.com. I’ll probably even put down the Dampfnudel to read what you send.