If bigger is better, chocolate makes everything better.
My binge started at 9 am this morning. Curses to the co-worker who brought in the jug of peppermint patties. Since then I’ve probably had eleventy, which, while I’m not math genius, is well over the recommended serving size of 5. I am hoping that the elevator-issue-inspired stair trips are taking those chocolate calories somewhere other than my ass. I really can’t afford anymore junk in the trunk, thighs, calves or cankles. And I swear I had nothing to do with that earthquake, I was lying flat on the couch when it rumbled on through. No, I wasn’t falling down stairs, or doing aerobics at the time.
As it is I’m down to 3 pair of capris and 1 pair of jeans and I refuse to go shopping up a size. Unless there’s a drastic reversal in the next week or so we’ll either have a lot of split seams or skirts in my future.
Earthquake news reports – not me.
‘Stampede kills 6 ‘ caused by accidental nudity of a fatty in the mall – might just be.
