It's that time again. My Bi-Annual Big Diet.
There comes a point in everyone's life where the scales laugh in your face and your jeans refuse to close. Sometimes you reach that point over and over again, and you still don't learn. I've reached that point, and some.
If I put on any more weight, the friction from my chubby, chafing thighs might just cause me to self-combust. And that can get expensive.
I could lie and tell you I am curvalicious, or buxom, or shapely. And while I am technically all of those things, it's just all a bit more rounded-off than it ought to be!
It's a sad fact that I cannot access about a third of my wardrobe. And I don't mean I can't reach it - I mean that I can't button it. Resembling a shrink-wrapped lumpy sausage is apparently not this season's hot new look.
The last few months have passed in a delightful blur of too-busy work days, lazy vacation days, as little physical exercise as possible...
and the terrible discovery of Maynard's Swedish Berries
and Costco's ready-made Margaritas. And it's been great!
But all good things ...
I can't even tell you that I battle with my weight because that would assume some element of effort. I am genetically lazy and I am apathetic in maintaining a good weight, until I reach the point of no return.
Then I witness a hot holiday on the horizon (read that as need-to-wear-a-swimsuit-in-public) and the full horror and realisation of my wobbly bits comes fully into focus. There's a very good reason I only have one full-length mirror in the house - and we are not well acquainted.
Me and these same ol' 15-20lbs are so familiar with each other. But I am bored with them. Be gone with you.
So - back into the rhythm of normality - new term, new job, new season - please wish me some cyberland good vibes as the calorie counting begins. Again.
Oh, and good luck yourself if you are attacking some poundage right now.