What’s behind all the vitriol regarding Paula Deen’s admission that she has Type 2 diabetes? Let’s dissect. Grab your scalpel.
Camp One: Members of this camp have always held Paula in disdain because she’s not on the whole food/raw food/organic food/dairy-free/grass fed beef/free range chicken/gluten-free/salt-free/vegetarian/vegan/sugar-free team, and for that, she must be publicly flogged, because everyone knows only stupid, ill-educated, irresponsible people eat whatever the hell they want to without making excuses or apologizing for it, and my, doesn’t schadenfreude taste DELICIOUS??? Paula, you poor Southern ruffian, just be more like us, and you’ll escape our withering stares and exasperated exhalations that smell of quinoa and raw beets and homemade organic salt-free flatbread repurposed from old hemp sandals.
Camp Two: Members of this camp, chubby and super sugar-fortified, ignored their doctors’ warnings about moderation in all things, like, say, how about dropping that doughnut and Dr. Pepper and opting for a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of hot tea every once in awhile?, and instead decided that if Paula Deen could eat tubs of sugar and sticks of butter and quarts of cream and fluffy pies and frosted cakes and flaky biscuits and viscous gravy, then by God, so could they, because she’s, like, a CELEBRITY, and see? It hasn’t hurt her one little bit. Not one bit! But now? Paula, you LIAR! You LIED to us! I mean, you never actually told us that we could eat with abandon and suffer no consequences, and you never actually told us to eat like this 3 times a day, every day of our lives, but THAT’S NOT THE POINT. Now I have to pay attention to what I put in my piehole (like less pie), and I can’t use your good health as an excuse to ladle cream gravy on everything and squirt canned whipped cream directly into my mouth. What the hell, Paula? Just WHAT. THE. HELL.
(Whew. I feel MUCHO better now. Someone pass me a celebratory vat of queso and some unsalted kale chips.)