So, since I began my freak out diet and exercise regime to get my muffin top body beach ready, I’ve resisted weighing myself.
Until yesterday morning.
I stepped on the scale with baited breath . . . the anticipation of seeing a new number appear on the digital readout. And, the new number was only 3 frigging pounds less. Grrrrrrrrrr! What more can I be doing? I’ve been exercising every day and really really watching what I eat.
I’ll admit, my clothes do feel a little looser, but I’m still a heifer on the scale.
Then I realised that I am getting that slightly bloated feeling, I’m craving chocolate and wine, feeling a little cranky (did you read my last post) and my skin is breaking out. Could it be my monthly visitor is going to make an appearance soon? I’m doomed, people, doomed. I guess I’ll be packing the black-suck-it-all-in-one-piece instead of the itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny-polka-dot-bikini!
Did I mention my local grocery store has started carrying British goods?