On the eve of All Hallow’s Eve, with our tots preparing to take over our neighborhoods for a few hours of collecting candy in lieu of tricks, one woman in North Dakota has another idea: she’ll be handing out this letter, instead of candy and treats and trinkets, to her neighborhood’s children:
In classic liberal think, Ms. Do Gooder has taken it upon herself to decide which of “our” kids are “moderately obese, in [her] opinion,” and which are not. In typical collectivist view, it is her sole responsibility to right the (obvious!) wrongs that all those overly-permissive parents in her “village”—you know, the ones who expect their kids to be kids and eat treats on Halloween—have committed. After all, she knows best and her opinion is Truth! Oh, but wait. Ms. Fat Fighter has overlooked one glaring detail: Just how does she plan to assess the BMI’s of the costumed kiddos rapping on her door? Will super-genius-lady have a scale and a BMI calculator? Will she demand that they remove their costumes—like the life-sized Velociraptor costume my daughter sported one year that took up the length of our living room, movable appendages and all—so she can assess their weight? Or how about the kid who comes to the door dressed like Jabba the Hutt like in that kicky Verizon commercial? Will she be working on the honor system when he denies being “fat?” Or will there be streams of tots in tears fleeing her home after their witch-of-a-neighbor-lady has bullied them into a weight check and severely damaged their self-esteem? But, hey, it’s what eating disorders, and totalitarianism, are made of.
When asked by the hosts of the radio show she’d called into to brag about her plan why she doesn’t just hand out toys and stickers, Ms. BMI Buster responded that she doesn’t want to be “the mean lady” in her neighborhood, and that she doesn’t plan to withhold candy from any of the kids. Sure. Right. (No hypocrisy there.) It’s just the “moderately obese” ones who will leave her home with a little something extra tucked into their bags. Branding irons fabricated with the words “You’re Obese!” are apparently too harsh.
Now, I don’t want to be accused of inciting mischief, but…the daydreaming me is firmly in the Walter White/Breaking Bad “trick” camp of lobbing pepperoni pizzas onto her roof. Or a nice, sticky 18-pack of (organic!) eggs pitched on to the steps of her perfect home where everyone inside is beautiful, thin, and has free healthcare. It’ll make a good, fat-building snack when the food rationing begins.
Next year let’s all dress up as unicorns!