Big news. I'm about two weeks away from a new bra size. First time in years I won't have to shop at Ottawa Tent and Awning. The ma'ams are shrinking at last. I'm an H right now, which has been wholly depressing for me. When you're an H, you can't run. You can't bounce. You can't flounce. The tank top is not your friend. But when you're back into the Ds, suddenly, you look, well, a bit hot. (I can't understand how bra sizing works, but you can skip the E, F, and G and go straight to D. Go figure.) My shirts are getting looser in the middle, too. No more need to suck it in. It's all thanks to ma boy, Harley Pasternak and his 20 Days to Swimsuit Ready diet. Okay, it's been about 60 days, but I'm old and I'll take it. This weight loss is not because I go to the gym every day. The bored trainers, they lie. The carbs are what have been turning me into the Pillsbury Doughgirl. The bad carbs! I knew it. Never trust ...
More than a million served!