Do you think it’s all flowers in the life of a new forty, sweeties?


This damned race called human has already invented cars. Now electric. They already invented wi-fi. They invented airplanes. invented drones and space rockets. Perhaps even interplanetary travel in the future. But he has not yet invented the cure for cancer and obesity.

Of every 9 out of 10 women, 10 out of 10 nutritionists say: “Yes, you have reached 40. You’ll have to get on the line ”.

Yes, I screwed myself. As an inheritance from a plump, fork-lifted Japanese family, I managed to maintain my skinny status until I was 28. From the bottom of my 1.55 m in height, I was able to stay in the 48 kilos with ease, even eating like a komodo dragon.

From 35, well, that’s another story. From humor to tragedy. Greek.

I swear I’m eating less. I swear I know I am aware of what I eat.

First, you are a woman. Second, when you’re over 40, it looks like your body says, “I’m tired of metabolizing what you eat, stupid. Now is my time to rest ”.

Your metabolism now required you to work only 3 times a week. Home Office. You only want half a day, and you threaten to strike and stop completely every time you eat a paltry hamburger.

I, like most female human beings, only wake up when the water hits my butt. When my sincere nephews start to joke about my weight and my clothes start to burst the lard, hummm it´s time to see. You are fat.

And of course, when you have a sea trip with the possibility of seeing many boys. But many younger girls with bodies much better than yours.

I start the diet. I really stop eating. Maybe one slip or the other, a little party on the weekend, but the truth is that I get really hungry.

The week goes by. With anorexic regime. I lose 100 grams. The weekend comes. Just a happy hour there, a lunch with the family here, and wow! The lost 100 grams became 1  and a half kilo. Straight to your belly.

And to make matters worse, the fat does not go where you would like it to go. It doesn’t go to boobs or butt. It goes to belly, leg, back and face. As if mine were no longer round like a full moon.

And it is not a lack of exercise. I kill myself in spinning, running, at least 4 times a week. I really do.

It is simply because I am over 40.

I have to practice my resilience. Let’s start to like green juice. Salad for lunch. Delicious soups for cold nights. Cave diets, let’s stop consuming industrialized products. I want everything quinoa and sugar-free now.


I’m looking at my soup plate now and I want to shoot (very hot, by the way) the first skinny man who appears. Real food for me is hamburger, it’s bacon, it’s pizza, it’s carbohydrate. Salad is just for garnish. I eat. But every chubby eats. Chubby doesn’t despise any food.

With that, a message to the 20 and 30 year old girls. Enjoy your phase a lot. Eat everything you can (and post too, because if we can’t eat anymore, let us at least see someone eating well.)

For us, poor women of 40 years, we are going to change the world. Let’s make a super bullying movement to the skinny naturals, let’s stop buying fashion magazines that only use skinny women. Or we are going to demand that the pharmaceutical industry invent medicines that do not drive us crazy, insomniac and let us eat whatever we want.

I’m taking a damn soup that makes you lose weight. Take weight, measure. It takes away all my desire to live too.

This story of living and thinking thin is only for bad eaters(literally). They are for fortunate women like my mother, who do not see much pleasure in food, or only for very specific foods. For those who love to eat and eat well, it is a disgrace.

Outburst done. Let me go back to my soup plate while watching Chef´s Table.