If I should decide to have liposuction, and I haven't decided to have liposuction, what worries me is ... what would I do with my fat?

There will be no photo with this blog, because I don't want to demonstrate for you why I would wish to have a pipe stuck under the skin of my derriere and have icky yellow adipose tissue sucked out -- for some useful purpose I cannot yet determine. It's been a bum year. I've had problems --some serious, some trivial -- that I had to discuss with a bagel. I put off until tomorrow until there were no more tomorrows. I purchased pants with elastic waists.

I could use my fat as fuel to heat my house.

I could use my fat as grease to lube my car.

I could donate my fat to a war-ravaged nation.

Technology exists, or so I have read, that allows people to remove fat from one part of their bodies to have it injected into another part of their bodies. I could have my fat injected into my cheekbones, until they were so prominent I could hang blazers on them.

But I think it is necessary for the cheekbones to be the POINT of such an exercise, not the byproduct. The person who figures out how to do both at once will be canonized.

That I have built Butt Rushmore from "healthy" foods is a particular source of grief to me. I haven't eaten meat in 42 years. I have never eaten fast food. I don't drink alcohol more than five times a year. I am allergic to chocolate.

Last spring, my read end was curvy. Now, it is like a little dog that follows me around corners about 30 seconds after the rest of me. It is composed of organic cheese, organic taco chips, organic vanilla lattes.

It's composed of gluttony, to be honest. I am a glutton, who eats to forget, who subconsciously believes that food devoured after sundown has no calories.

When I was young, I was a hunger artist. I could live for a day on a cup of tomato soup. At the end of that day, I would have lost five pounds. At the end of that week, I'd have lost ten. Now, I have lost both my hunger skills and my metabolic grace. A dear acquaintance just spent a full year losing 60 pounds through substituting fruits and vegetables for bread and meat and exercising daily. When I look at her, I want to be put to sleep -- not like a sick animal, but until I can sleep off at least half that many pounds.

That the fast food industry was a novelty when I was a child in the 1960s and now is a gabillion dollar industry, and that the cosmetic surgery and fitness industry has grown in direct response is a queasy witness not just to me but to American culture altogether.

To be fat in a hungry world is both painful and unfair. Being fat is bad enough; being fat and politcally incorrect is abominable.

If I could donate my fat, I would feel better about the whole distasteful issue of liposuction. But the technology does not yet exist for converting my sin into some kind of beneficial commodity.

If you come up with an idea, please write. If you have no respect for me for even considering this, please keep it to yourself.

Jackie M.