The funny thing about my body –– y’know, the one with the big ass and big tits you were eyeballing and the big everything else –– is that it belongs to me. (Who knew?) Which means that whatever I choose to put in it is my decision and no one else’s. If I decide I want to eat two Oreos a night for a few weeks because it’s the most cost-effective way to manage my chocolate intake, so be it. Even if I decide to throw caution to the wind and disregard the exorbitant “healthcare costs you’ll be paying later,” as you so eloquently phrased it, in favor of eating the whole fucking box tonight, that is my decision to make and mine alone. I could eat Oreos for breakfast if I wanted. A whole sleeve for afternoon tea! Because I’m a grown woman and what I put in my body is my own fucking business.
I went to the grocery store to get cereal, Oreos and a frozen pizza, not a lecture from you. So you can take your expensive coconut water and your road bicycle and shove it.