All is forgiven.
This morning, I woke up and put on my favorite Radio-Canada t-shirt, one I've had to suck my gut in to wear, and it was loose. Oh, how I love you, right now.
I've lost two pounds, which for me is a near impossibility. I've been going to the gym for a year and a half and only lost five pounds, so two is a biggie for me.
Scott, on the other hand, bastard that he is, lost eight pounds over the last three days. That's men for you.
Let's go golfing; I've never been before. What? I beat you? That's impossible.
I can't believe I made a souffle; I've never cooked before. What? You can't make a souffle? Sure, you can.
Rotten bastard. The Ex-lax is going in the smoothie for sure this morning.
Seriously, nothing could dampen my mood.
Even the intimidating Shrek-sized jar of vanilla whey powder I had to lug home from the gymnasty. It's so large that my tiny perfect hands can get around the jar to open it. I'll have to wait for Scott to get home from walking the alligator-that-is-disguised-as-a-small-canine.
I'm not even mad at Finnigan anymore. His diarrhea is gone and he only got me up twice last night. Blessed are the miracles!
Today's smoothie will be a wonderful concoction of banana and tropical fruit. I've changed up the soups, Harley, because you may be a nutritionist but you ain't no cook, as Paula Deen would say. I've made up some delish Bonnie Stern lentil soup which has the same calories and doesn't taste like ass.
Still love your spinach dip, though.
Off to the gymnasty.
Thinking of taking a class. That's a first.
Your friend and faithful follower,