CHAROLETTE, NC – Vani Hari, the controversial blogger and self described “Food Babe” woke up to a new face in the mirror this morning after a bachelorette party devolved into a bachelorette bender!
Not since Helen of Troy has a stunning, charismatic beauty launched more uneducated people into uncharted and dangerous waters. For Helen, it was war and for Vani it is blathering on with unfounded, unsolicited and unproven nutritional mumbo jumbo digested by millions of gullible Americans as easily as bleached flour and refined sugars.
However, last night she may have lost her unparalleled radiance, once the envy of Hollywood starlets and the aspiration of women meeting with their plastic surgeons the world over. Her beauty betrayed by a single toaster pastry in a moment of THC-induced weakness at a friend’s house in the early morning hours on Sunday. A “friend” dropped a Strawberry Pop Tart into the toaster and offered her one. They always say first one is free.
Maybe it was the decadent smell of deforestation as the palm oil was heated between two electric heating elements, no doubt powered by dirty coal from a filthy yet rugged plant belching out carbon dioxide like the bad boy Chippendale dancer she saw puffing on an unfiltered Pall Mall behind the club she’d been to just hours before. Perhaps the “ding” of the toaster was like the siren’s song – high fructose corn the syrup and xanthan gum call you, Vani, and they do not judge. Perhaps it was the thought of unpronounceable ingredients doing unspeakable things in her mouth – pyridoxine hydrochloride, niacin amide, mono calcium phosphate and thiamin hydrochloride – all at once! My god! Her fans and certainly her husband mustn’t know!
She only remember the first bite.
The morning after she woke up in the guest bedroom and knew the damage was done. She shuffled down the sun-drenched hallway to the water closet, bracing herself with every step for the horror show she would soon meet in the mirror. The ice cold bathroom tiles welcomed her feet to the grim reveal. She raised a heavy, hungover head to meet her new persona. The face was no longer that of a babe, the sins of the night before had taken their toll, Pop Tarts do not forgive. Pop Tarts do not forget. Now she was simply… a looker.