Please know that it is with a heavy heart I am writing you to inform you that you kind of get on my nerves.
I want to like you (and I even stopped to ponder if my dis-love was triggered by my significant doctor-crush on Mehmet but, alas, it is not). I have tried but as of yet to no avail.
Every time I see you on the (great & mighty) Oprah Show you sorta come across as exceedingly smug.
We get it.
You lobbied your parents for healthy family eating back at the tender age of nine.
You have never, ever salted your food.
You are still the exact same weight you were in high school.
You barely drink. Dont smoke. And yet somehow we’re to believe you possess the unique ability to relate to all of us every-people.
At first? I kept my “I dont love Bob” an ugly little secret.
“WHO doesnt love Bob Greene?!” I knew they’d say.
As you perched
arrogantly eagerly on the edge of your chair whilst an audience member praised you—this woman thinks she saw just the teeeeniest fleeting look of “Bob, you on my last nerve here with all yer goodness” cross the mighty O’s face.
Sure she swiftly covered it all up with a smile & a filled-with-jest “I know what to do. I just dont like doing it!” but this MizFit stood, for that fleeting moment, and gave Oprah (& her TiVo) a mighty cheer.
Please know that this all comes from a loving place.
We just wanna see the smallest of chinks (dents?!) in the armor which is your perfection, Bob.
You know, just so that we’re certain—-under it all—–you’re one of us.