Firstly I have to apologise to my husband for the implication that he is too lazy to cook. The reason that cooking seemed too much trouble for him yesterday was that he has been poorly too. My comment that I don’t know why I bother was more to do with the fact that he’s more enthusiastic about eating beans on toast than my delicious home made creations.
Here he is, with a slightly wider me…
Anyway, a positive spin on this illness is that it has put me off my food. Losing my appetite has never ever happened to me before. I wonder if the low carb eating that put me back in touch with my stomach, is the reason for this.
So this morning I weighed myself and I had lost another pound. Seven pounds to go until I reach my target – unless I lower the target further along the line. I was pretty chuffed to see the scale lower than it’s been for maybe twenty five years. Then I started undressing in front of the mirror (I won’t put in a picture of this) and I noticed that my body doesn’t look at all like it did when I weighed this amount twenty five years ago. My breasts now look rather like sausages, the skin on my tummy looks like the skin on custard and the skin on my inner thighs is like the overflow from a chocolate fountain.
It’s interesting to note that all these analagies are to food. It doesn’t look like I have completely conquered my unhealthy relationship with it, does it?