How can it be that it took me the last six months to lose ten pounds, yet I blithely gained eight back in just three weeks? Math has never been my strong suit, but come on.
Once I flunked a long division quiz in 4th grade because Miss Cummings, who usually spread the desks out to avoid cheating, took a shortcut and just gave every other student a different test. I spent the whole time whipping my head around the fact that she didn’t follow protocol and I got a big, fat F. You know, the kind of result where your parents have to sign the shameful results. Mother Dearest flew into a rage and made up her own long division problems for me to solve while she was out marketing. “You’d better get these all right! By the time I get back! I’m not kidding!” There I sat at the dining room table, all aquiver because I couldn’t get the answer checking to come out….until I remembered to add in the remainder. Jeanne’s “teaching” methods were sheer terror, but you bet your ass I never forgot to those remainders again.
Meanwhile, back to my current number crunching. Sassafrass has forbidden me to bellyache about the Italian pounds. After all, I did choose to indulge. What’s the point of being in Rome, Florence, and Venice if one doesn’t enjoy the delights of the table?
Maybe it was the bag of Trader Joe’s salted chips and tub of Scottie Dog black licorice I threw down yesterday that accounts for some of the bump up? Maybe the real butter buttered popcorn I shared with Theo Fannybrice as a welcome home? Maybe the McDonald’s fish fillet I scarfed down before shopping at Trader Joe’s? I mean, as long as I was still a fugitive until Monday morning, there were flings to be flung.
My name is Wiggles, and I am a food addict. Thank goodness I’ve returned to the Weight Watchers fold.