It broke my heart, but I threw away the lasting remnants of Thanksgiving dinner. Right into the garbage can, I did. Dumped that sweet potato casserole with the brown sugar topping, pitched that gravy and even the mashed potatoes. I just had to because I was eating all of it. By myself. And my scale was hating me and my body was feeling every one of those extra pounds when I rejoined my workout partners yesterday. You will notice that I waited until I had polished off all the macaroni and cheese as well as the remaining pie slices that were left when my family departed on Saturday. And I don't really even like pie that much. That's the problem with Thanksgiving dinner...it's just for eating, and eating, and eating.
Depressing: Def., "Realizing that you and your Dearly Beloved are entirely to close to wearing the same pant size. Case in point - Hero Guy came ' har har-ing' out of the bedroom relating that he had accidentally been wearing a pair of my jeans for the last 15 minutes. He wondered why they felt so weird (translated - TIGHT) until he took them off and inspected the tag. He gloated that at least he knows he can fit into a Ladies Size ___ (you really think I'm going to tell you the number?!). My Observations: 1) He had a MONSTER wedgie, so the jeans were entirely too small for him. 2) They are my "fat" jeans, a size bigger than what I actually wear, but I just like the broken-in feeling of them. Or the roominess or something. 3) They were the stretchy kind of jeans, so an elephant could have painted itself into them. 4) What's he bragging about having a girlish figure for anyway? Not very macho if you ask me. Hmph.
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