Damn you, damn you, damn you!! If what I think is going to happen actually happens, I’m gonna have to call you out and give you a heapin’ helpin’ of my mind, sister.
You planted the seed. You didn’t tend it and help it grow, but you planted the seed and that started the evil. Just as lung cancer patients are suing tobacco companies and drug dealers are being charged with murder for overdosing clients, you will have to pay. You planted the seed.
“It was just one seed,” you say. “Certainly this is not a high crime.” Oh, but it is. This was not the seed of a beautiful flower; this was a seed of a terrible weed. Some sort of jimson weed, that will doubtlessly spread over the field of my life, choking everything in its path, poisoning all attempts to remove it.
I lost 9 pounds over the last 3 weeks. I went grocery shopping last night and saw the “BBQ Chicken in a Biskit” crackers. Recalling your thread about how they were truly the modern ambrosia, I bought a box. Now I’m gonna gain those 9 pounds back.
And it’s all your fault.
Spritle, who is getting BBQ flavoring dust all over his keyboard
Why should I be the only one getting dumpy in middle age? Why should I be the only one to stuff last year’s clothes into my bottom bureau drawer because I’ll never squeeze into them again?
I am the Satanic High Priestess of Middle-Aged Spread, and BBQ Chicken in a Biskit is my evil saber-wielding minion!
Well, I have been eating little but sticks and twigs for more than a month—about 1,000 cal./day—and I have not lost ONE BLOODY OUNCE. I think my scale is stuck.
I don’t go by what I weigh (I don’t even own a scale). I go by how my clothes fit. They’re looser now than they were a month ago, and I’ve been able to bring the belt in a notch.
Ergo, I have lost weight. But I don’t know how much. Nor do I care.
I am also going to have to make a concerted effort to avoid BBQ Chicken-in-A-Biskit crackers, if only for their deliberately misspelled name.