I had a talk with God recently. I’ve spoken with him countless times, but this time we had a two-way conversation. I explained that I am fed up with counting calories, fiber and fat grams, and sick of sugar substitutes, watery milk and imitation butter that lies in my frying pan like a blob refusing to melt. 

I told him I’ve had it up to here with boring walks to nowhere on my “dread mill” and horrendous fashions offered to women size 14 and over. I confessed that, on more than one occasion, I’ve contemplated breaking the sixth commandment for chocolate, and the only meaningful praying I’ve done takes place on my bathroom scale. I told him I’ve been fighting an uphill battle for five decades and am looking to him for hope that one day things will be easier.

God mulled over my words.

“Okay,” he said. “If you promise to continue your struggle, but without your usual attitude, I’ll consider doing something I’ve never done before. After you die, I will allow you to return to Earth in any form you want.”

“Wow! That sounds great!”

What would I be? A Pulitzer prize-winning author? The next Mother Theresa? An astronaut? Slender? 

Of course! Slender! No one is more valued, revered and admired than the anorexic runway model.

I thought about it for several days and realized I wasn’t happy with that plan after all, so I summoned God again.

“Now what?” he asked.

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, God, but I’ve been thinking about what we discussed, and I realize that, rather than returning slim, I’d like to come back overweight.”

God was confused. “Do you know what you’re asking?”

“Absolutely. I’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“Okay, then. You want to come back as a fat person.”

“Well, actually, I would like one thing more…if you don’t mind.”

“I’m already sorry. Make it fast. I’ve got real problems to attend to.”

“I’d like to return as an obese person in a world where fat people are admired, adored, respected and even lusted over, and slender people are viewed with pity, disgust and disdain.”

“You’re kidding, right? That would require me to change public opinion. This is going to be more difficult than I signed on for.”

“Please. Oh, please. It’s not just for me. Billions of people struggle with weight. You’ll make them very happy if you do this.”

“Fine! You’ll return to Earth as an overweight person, in a nation where most of the population is overweight. Hmmm. That’s not very different from the way things are now. But, everyone’s perception will have changed.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, I have 19 quadrillion prayers and complaints to acknowledge, so let’s call this a wrap.”

“Thank you so much. I won’t bother you again.”

I fantasized sitting in a diner with a corpulent friend, stuffing down hot fudge sundaes with syrupy walnuts and whipped cream, trying not to stare at Ms. Size Four in a nearby booth, picking at her dressing-free salad.

“Has she no self-respect?” I ask my friend, as I reach across the table and wipe chocolate syrup from her chin. “Surely she knows that eating a salad puts her at risk for losing weight. It’s disgusting. Either she has no willpower, or she doesn’t care.”

And in Kohl’s dressing room, I am repulsed as I watch a flat-bellied, tiny-assed, bikini-clad woman pirouette in front of a full-length mirror.

“For God’s sake, does she know what she looks like from the rear?” I wonder, as the zipper on the size 32 slacks I’m attempting to pull over my hips bursts under pressure.

At a cocktail party, I devour a tray of hors d’oeuvres I seize from a passing waiter. I stuff my pockets with petit fours and truffles and chug-a-lug piña coladas straight from the bartender’s blender.

I pull my chair up to the buffet table and wolf down everything in sight while grimacing at a tall, willowy model-type in a slinky red Versace gown, sipping a Perrier and nibbling celery stalks. She is surrounded by a group of slack-jawed men, who stare at her with revulsion.

How sad, I think. Such a pretty face. She would be a knockout if she just gained 75 pounds.

On the back of everyone’s driver’s license, fat would be included with organ donations. What better than a gift of fat?

Turnstiles and airplane seats would comfortably accommodate overweight people, and Victoria’s Secret would offer lacy, sexy, industrial-strength bras. Best of all, “one size fits all” designers would be jailed for false advertising.

I’m in no rush to leave this Earth, but it’s sad that I have to wait until then to experience the benefits of such innovative thinking.