I am not usually much of a joiner as I generally like the sound of my own voice when it comes to taking free advice. Yeah, I know there are those occasions I'll get it wrong, but I figure then I won't be angry with anyone but myself. I won't lose friends over ill advised decisions and I never stay mad at my own stupidity for too long. I try to follow the golden rule of not beating my ego to a pulp over human frailty.
Now that I've defended my directionally challenged lifestyle, I can openly confess to a rather glaring fault in my healthy choice category: dieting!
I was eating a Weight Watchers Bar and watching TV the other night when one of the million exercise and strength training commercials came on. I was happily dipping my bar into a small bowl of Cool Whip Lite, when the shapely forms of sweaty, perfectly made-up twenty somethings start babbling between snow-white teeth about how they got to look that perfect in only three weeks. They weren't struggling to breath either; just panting seductively enough to get my husband's roaming attention. (He was lapping up the last of his bar and looking avidly at mine...).
Well, that did it! It was diet time, starting NOW! Naturally, I had to finish licking the Cool Whip bowl and finish the bar. Waste not, etc, etc...
When I announced my plan to diet until I lost a few inches of happy fat, my husband gave me one of his sardonic chuckles (Look it up folks...they exist!) it merely made my resolve that much firmer (if only it had that effect on my butt).
Being a practical dieter, (not practiced... mind you) I turned my charm on high suggesting that we enter the world of calorie-counting together! After he stopped chortling (yet another form of annoying me) I pronounced my intention was set in stone.
Those gym-bimbos would no longer make me feel like someone's old aunty (true, but my nieces are too wise to point that out).
The fact that Rome wasn't built in a day seems the "gold standard" of excuses to me. I use it often when I've procrastinated beyond the acceptable norm for sending Thank You Notes (one year seems excessive I guess).
I am struggling to achieve those few inches lost, because doing this by myself has proven risky business when my husband breaks out the fudge bars and Cool Whip. But you know, if I wear really tight jeans I probably squeeze a good inch down to my ankles and breathing isn't a problem...although I pant a lot!