My grandmother told me once that if I ate one more bite of cookie dough, I was gonna get worms. I was eight. And to that point, had led a sheltered life. The only other time I'd heard anyone talk about worms was in reference to the neighbors' dog, who I'd seen on more than one occasion doing figure 8's on their living room carpet. I remember contemplating for a brief moment, spoon of raw Nestle Tollhouse goodness in one hand. But decided I was willing to risk it...even if it meant having to downsize my social calendar temporarily so I could stay close to home, and my grandmother's oriental rug. That's how much I loved...correction, love...raw cookie dough. What do you do when you love food THAT much?
Whoever said no news was good news was a big fat liar. Because if I had good news, I would be writing every.single.day. In fact, the only time you know there is trouble is if I'm quiet. And lately, I've been holed up in my apartment like friggin' Boo Radley. Minus the scissors. I'm gonna start ordering my groceries online so I never have to leave the house.
I was convinced that the 60 pounds would be a distant memory by now. But I've only lost a third of it. I fluctuate between 20 and 27 pounds lost. I fear I'm gonna look like Crystal Gayle before I get around to booking Hair Appointment #6.
Please tell me why. Why someone with a master's degree who graduated with highest honors and made a 4.0 the last two years of her academic life cannot figure this out? Why I would rather spend my 12 weeks of summer vacation watching Real Housewives marathons than train for a marathon? Why the thought of spending yet another year in flowing Chico's traveler's pants doesn't scare me straight?
The words "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all" have been ringing in my head every time over the past three weeks that I've started to write this entry. OMG...I hate that saying! But the last thing I want to do is to be THAT girl...that voice that chimes in with all the other voices that claim weight loss is this impossible, elusive thing out there. Because I absolutely don't believe that! I'm just having a colossal (but temporary) pity party for one and wonder if anyone wants to wallow in misery with me. Please let there be someone out there who a)shares my love for raw cookie dough and/or TV marathons and b)will get down in the mud with me and wallow. Just one really good, smelly story? Please post your comments below. :)