Granola Grrrl recently confessed that despite her affinity for all things natural, holistic, and simple, she’d have plastic surgery in a second to tidy up the mess left behind by having twins and a 10-pound baby. She feels a bit marsupial now, with a pouch on her midsection and her boobs pointing down. And being newly single, she’s more than a little put out by this.

I generously offered to donate some stomach fat to fill her pouch with. This would make it nice and smooth and create a cozy gut for her boobs to rest on—no sagging! We’re blood relatives—I’m sure we’re fat compatible! (Surprisingly, she hasn’t e-mailed me back concerning my innovative solution to our respective tummy troubles.)

While Granola Grrl has been pondering the mental hypocrisy of  loving all things natural and yet reviling her saggy skin, stretchmarks, and pendulous boobs, I’ve reassured her that she isn’t as screwed up as she thinks. Our family has a proud history of pairing organic values with materialism and vanity. She's just another gnarly branch on our naturally weird family tree.

Consider my sister, a sales rep for various lines of health foods and supplements. She’s been eating sprouts and beans for as long as I can remember and washing supplements down with various green drinks. She hasn’t been to a medical doctor in years because modern medicine is a sham, except for the dermatologists who can prescribe those chemical cocktails to remove her wrinkles and sun damage. Now those are REAL doctors.

My sister spends her days talking to people about their diet and health woes, expounding on the benefits of the products she sells, and advising customers with medical problems on alternative medical treatments. You’d imagine her to be natural and wholesome, living close to the earth, growing her own herbs and vegetables, and gathering her family around a big pine table every night for vegetarian meals. You would be SO WRONG.

My sister is perfectly coiffed, thoroughly made up with dramatic dark eyeliner and red lipstick, designer clothes, and professionally manicured nails. She’s been on QVC. She drives a Cadillac and lives in a million dollar home. She doesn’t have a laid back bone in her body. She works non-stop, her cell phone glued to her ear 24/7. She doesn’t own a pair of jeans, never takes vacations, drinks a lot of coffee, and eats standing up. She’s a remarkable business woman--and a vain granola.

And then there’s my other sister, who also works in alternative medicine. She has one of those geriatric days-of-the-week pill sorters to keep all her vitamins and supplements straight. She assists in the office of a leading health guru who helped pioneer the concept of eating a restricted diet based on your blood type. All day, every day, my sister inserts hoses into people’s butts to irrigate and cleanse their toxic colons. Ooh yeah. Don’t you think she loves her work! And this same sister, who eats organic food and has a squeaky clean large intestine, has had a nose job, a tummy tuck, and liposuction.

So as you can see, our family motto is not "You can't fool Mother Nature."

We recognize that sometimes the family DNA arrives in a brown paper package, and DAMN, we are not going to sign for it. Hon, we want that DNA tastefully gift-wrapped and tied with a perfect bow—we deserve the best! Sure, we may eat hormone-free yogurt and malformed pesticide-free apples with spots, but personally WE will not be blemished, wrinkled, hormone-free hags! No way. That’s just not RIGHT. It’s not part of OUR natural order.

I’ll freely admit I’m less organic than the rest of them. I actually serve vile boxed macaroni and cheese to my children once in a while and even eat a hot dog or two in the summer time. I don’t take vitamins regularly. I’d never want a surgeon to reshape my Italian nose, boost my toy breasts (they can’t sag!), or suction down the stomach that tends to rise like bread dough over the top of my low-rise jeans.

But I’m not without vanity. I know that sooner or later I’m going to be writing a check to a medical professional and getting rid of the spider veins that have been crawling across my legs since I was a teen.

 "ZAP! WHACK! Wither and die, suckers! That doctor has got a laser and a hypodermic needle of saline solution—your days of spinning ugly purple webs on my legs are over!"

And when it's all done and the enemy veins have been eradicated, I’m going to sit outside in a sweet pair of organic cotton shorts, have a mixed green salad, and feel like a natural woman. Maybe my sisters will join me at the table.  We'll be looking so fine, we'll call a photographer for a family portrait.

 "Everyone say cheese!"

 (Lowfat, organic, and hormone-free, of course.)

© 2005 by Veronica McCabe Deschambault

October 21, 2005