Earl and I went to a wonderful party last night. It had all the components that wonderful parties have: great friends, good food, sparkling conversation, and yummy chocolate rum cake for dessert. I had mine with double whipped cream.
But a gnawing feeling crept over me as we left.
I’d worn my new jeans, the ones that fit perfectly in the store. The ones that weren’t washed yet, so I couldn’t accuse them of shrinking in the dryer. The ones that felt as if I had put on some weight. It must have been the rum cake.
So I stepped on the scale this morning to learn the truth. It was ugly. I double-checked to make sure the pointer was on zero and then tried again. Still ugly. I weighed three pounds more than I did on New Year’s Day, and this was a mere four weeks later. That’s three-quarters of a pound a week.
I’m not one to launch a diet on the spur of the moment, but that’s exactly what I did. Earl and I are going to Europe mid-April, and I want to eat with abandon. Which means I better abandon my current pre-holiday, no foods barred ways. Now.
My refrigerator wasn’t stocked for this. So I quickly made a list and headed to the grocery store for provisions. It’s always easier to stay on a diet when you have the appropriate foods on hand. I hid the kettle chips and crackers, stowed the M&Ms, and swore off potatoes, rice, pasta, and bread. In their places, I’m planning to eat more protein, fresh veggies, and salads until I’m at a weight that can accommodate a European trip.
In the meantime, I’ll probably dream about that rum cake.