For the first time in my life, I am attempting to lose weight. Maybe second...following a charade of a diet that lasted two weeks earlier this summer. After losing a riveting three pounds I went on a three month-long celebratory binge. So I'm pretty sure that doesn't count.
For anyone that knows me you will be well aware of my diet. Bordering on malnutrition, my day-to-day sustenance is comprised of crisps and potatoes. After all, that is what Padraig Pearse would have wanted. After recently discovering that Mr. Pearse, was not in fact a dietician, but an Irish rebel I am pretty disappointed that I sacrificed six inches of height and good skin for no reason.
Until now I have lived a rosy, guilt-free life. I filled my days with Supersize McDonald's meals and breakfasts of butter, up until the harrowing day when I was abandoned by my oldest friend, Mr. Metabolism. Like a comfort blanket, I clung onto him for dear life, but he was right, I took him for granted. So he left me. All alone and growing the wrong direction.
For weeks I waited by the phone. He never called.
But with the help of Whitney Houston and her inspirational words, I know I must face the world alone, sans my fried friends. With the self-control of a child or fat person, I will update my blog with how horrible my healthy lifestyle is, and hope that it will be an encouragement to achieve. Otherwise, I'll just lie about it...
|Lettuce, the poor man's burger.|