I got down on the floor this morning. There it was, hiding under my dresser – my scale.
I brushed away the dust, Indiana Jones like. I think it saw me coming and shuddered. I got on it and there was much crying and gnashing of teeth. I cried, too.
It’s bad, folks. Really bad. Out of control bad. The diet starts NOW bad. I saw a picture of myself on Saturday and died a little inside. Yick. I’m so ashamed of myself. It took a lot of steaks and fine wine to get here. Now it’s going to take a lot of carrots and celery to get it back off.
So, here’s the plan:
- Join the gym.
- Write down what I am eating each day.
- No sweets – at least for the first week. Then the one sweet rule applies.
- Nothing fried. Ever again.
- YOU help keep me honest.
Give me the stink eye. Ask me if I went to the gym. Demand progress reports. Join me and let’s form a team.
I’m off to the pool…
My sister does triathlons. I want to be more like her…
I seem to be eating enough food for two grown adults these days, so when you are staring down a piece of cake or a fried mozzarella stick, you can just say to yourself, “I don’t need to eat this because Alias Mother has taken care of it.” And thus ye shall be free.
No need to thank me. It’s the least I can do.
Thank you? Have fun feeding that little bean…