Before everyone rushes in to inform Gay Panda that BMI is a useless tool, let me respond that I know. It does not stop me from visiting the online BMI calculator every time I hit a new low on the scale.
It would be easier if I knew my exact height. The last time anyone checked was when I was in high school, and I recollect that the measure read 5’8” and a half. Or maybe it was three-quarters. So I round up to 5’9”. But then again, don’t pandas shrink with age? So maybe I am 5’8” or 4’2” now. Yet I am not THAT old, so perhaps the shrinkage has yet to come.
When I go the BMI calculator, I calculate for 5’8”, 5’8 ½”, and 5’9”. No matter the height, I no longer qualify as obese. I am just overweight, my BMI having decreased from over 35 to 27-28, depending on which height I enter in the box. Again, I know that this means little. Lady Friend, by BMI standards, is considered obese. She is very muscular and has an active job, yet some doctors look only at her BMI, not her body, and assume that she eats junk, does nothing, and is unhealthy.
But she is walking and lifting heavy things all day long. Her arms and calves are hard as boulders, and she can throw down a fully-grown sheep. So I don’t know how she fits into the same category as a friend of mine who sat at a computer all day long pretending to be half-werewolf, half-witch* with a group of likewise magical Internet friends, and ate fast food for each and every meal. She had an oily slick on her skin, health problems, and could not climb stairs without panting. By BMI categories, both are obese. Yet they could not be more different.
So I take my numbers with a grain of salt, but I still look to see what they are. And since I am tired of entering three heights, perhaps next Sunday when Lady Friend liberates the hidden tape measure, I’ll have her do my height as well. Then we’ll know the exact dimensions of your unattainable dream of a panda, and it will help all of you in picturing me in my Botticelli pose on the half-shell.