I’ve been waking up in the mornings in the worst moods. Yesterday, everything annoyed me. This morning was headed down that path…until I stepped on the scale. What kind of a brilliant, confident, and sexy woman thinks to herself “I sure am in a piss-poor mood. I think I’ll weigh myself!”?????? Ugh. Ugh indeed.
I was sorry the instant that I did it. And mad at myself, too.
Mad because I entertained the thought of getting on the scale in the first place and even more incensed because I’m the one who ate TWO (of the most delicious, buttery, straight-off-the-streets-of-Paris tasting) pastries yesterday based on the mere fact that they were placed in front of me…
and had more sweets after dinner last night.
And neglected to go for a walk, despite the perfect walking weather and the fact that I desperately need excercise.
Multiply that by the last……….few months?
Yeah, no surpise I’m at the absolute worst number I could possibly be at. The number that is at the absolute top of my limit.
The number I told myself I would never get to unless I gained it with baby weight. Yet, I have no baby (which, again, muddles the issue…but that’s another blog post entirely).
Well, hellooo undisclosed number. I’m moody and my pants don’t fit. So shut up, and don’t make yourself comfortable. You won’t be staying long.