I just resolved to get off my rapidly enlarging ass and lose some weight. I worked long and hard 2 years ago to lose 15 pounds. The last 15 pounds of baby weight came off at a glacial pace and held firm like a deer tick on my dog. I did it. One solid year of Weight Watcher meetings, daily doses of exercise and eating in a sensible, healthy manner put me back into a size 6. A size, by the way, that I haven't seen since 1993. Well, fast forward to today. I have only 5 pounds of that lost 15 still to claim, the size 6's are up in the attic, and the size 8's are laughing at me when ever I try to button, zip or buckle.
I have only myself to blame. I am a stress eater. I am a glass is half-full kind of gal, as we've previously established, so I find plenty of reasons to stress then eat. My drug of choice? I reach for sweets in the form of chocolate. At first it was only the best chocolate: Godiva truffles, real bakery treats, the occasional chocolate dipped apple at Rocky Mountain Chocolates (to die for!!). I had to make a concerted effort to obtain these particular kryptonic crutches and I found it was worth it every time. However, time marched on and I became less and less diligent with my eating habits. Fries replaced salads when taking the kids to McDonald's, Hersey kisses replaced Godiva truffles and instead of one Weight Watcher ice cream bar, I had 2, sometimes 3 before my craving was satisfied.
The pounds came on slowly. Once the size 6's were too small, I didn't worry too much. After all, was I really a size 6? I have been a double digit gal most of my life, so who was I kidding? Then it was only 5 pounds, 7 pounds, 9 pounds. I can get rid of that. I just need to buckle down, right? Wrong. It is now the magical 10 pounds. The muffin is back and it's not the kind I eat for breakfast. Jeans and a t-shirt are not forgiving. I has been said that there is something about 10 pounds that makes what ever weight you have gained officially not okay. I agree.
So, as I sit here on my healing, swollen and bruised foot, I have resolved to get back with the program. I need to dust off the size 6's and believe that I deserve the good health to wear them. It will not be an easy task, as I have a great deal of trouble losing any weight without exercise, but I should be able to start with the change to healthy, controlled eating. I'll go back to the meetings, religiously, as I did when I was successfully reaching my goal. As I am full of all this resolve- DING DONG- the door bell rings.
I went upstairs thinking it was one of the neighborhood kids looking for a playmate. It was one of the neighborhood kids alright, but not looking for one of the boys. She was looking for me. She had on a green uniform and was holding a large box filled with smaller boxes. I had ordered 5 boxes of Girl Scout cookies in January. The thought of those Thin Mints were too much to resist. Now I have them and 3 other varieties. They mock my resolve. They will call to me each time I pass the cupboard, when I am trying to fall asleep in my bed and when I feel like I cannot take another whining, complaining, fighting minute more of my children. This is not good.
In short, Damn Girl Scouts!
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