I know it’s hard to believe, but there was a time in my life when I cared about what I looked like. I wore nice clothes, carefully painted my face with makeup, and even managed to brush my hair daily. Obviously those days are long gone.
There was also a time when I did juice cleanses because I cared about health or something like that. A juice cleanse is when you only drink liquids for a certain period of time as a way to
kickstart an eating disorder remove toxins from your body. It’s also a great test to see how long you can go without eating before seriously considering robbing someone at gunpoint for a piece of pizza.
While the cleanses themselves were often different, the outcomes of them were always the same.
Stage 1: Denial
People on their first day of a cleanse are the biggest tools you’ll ever encounter. They’ll walk around saying things like, “I’m feeling really great. I have lots of energy! This cleanse has already changed my life.” As they’re talking, you’ll smell the stench of the lemon juice/cayenne pepper/maple syrup/paint thinner concoction they’ve been ingesting. Feel free to punch these people in the face.
Stage 2: Anger
There will be a moment in every juice cleanse when you’ll snap. Maybe it’s when Phyllis from Accounting is passing out donuts. Maybe it’s when you see your neighbor bringing home Chinese takeout. It could even be when you see those sneaky Girl Scouts loitering in front of your grocery store, pushing their cookie agenda on you. You will have a complete meltdown, and begin ranting about your slow metabolism, and how your ex-boyfriend never appreciated the strip teases you gave him to “Danger Zone” by Kenny Loggins.
Stage 3: Bargaining
“God, if you allow me to make it through this without shitting my pants in front of everyone, I’ll go to church every single day.” This is something I actually said to myself in the middle of a company meeting on the fourth day of a cleanse. When experts (read: cleanse-pushing sadists) say the juice will flush out your system, what they mean is that stagnant turds inside of you will suddenly want to come shooting out of your body at the most inopportune times. Even the most staunch atheists will be praying that their butt puckers don’t lose their clenching power.
Stage 4: Depression
Gone are the days of crying while watching Sarah McLachlan’s ASPCA commercial, and in are the days of weeping as you watch Food Network. Tears will stain your cheeks as you reminisce about being able to go to dinner with friends, and not have to order water with a side of soul crushing lemon wedges. At night you’ll toss and turn, thinking about Chicken Tikka Masala, a dish you can’t pronounce, couldn’t identify if it was in front of you, and don’t even know if you’ve ever had. It doesn’t matter, you already miss it.
Stage 5: Acceptance
You come to accept that juice cleanses are only for people who don’t care if their vital organs work properly 25 years from now, who are masochists, and who are most likely Scientologists. You then consume a week’s worth of calories in one sitting, rendering you immobile for a month.
I don’t do cleanses anymore, and I don’t advise anyone to do them either. I’ve learned of this radical new diet called “eating healthier” and “exercising regularly” which seems to be doing a lot more for people than drinking 300,000 glasses of beet juice ever did.
Still don’t believe me? By all means, go ahead and try it. But when you’re crying at the mere mention of a cheeseburger, and contemplating gluing your butt cheeks together to avoid crapping your pantaloons, don’t say I didn’t warn you.