I am not stupid. I know that eating + little exercise = I am fatter than I want to be. I know that resisting that extra piece of pizza means I won't feel guilty for the rest of the day. I know that going for a jog means I will feel great and be quite proud of myself, thank you very much.
So why is it so hard to talk myself out of that pizza?
There are a few theories. Boredom is one. Fear of not having any food, stemming from my college days when all that was in my fridge was the honey-based wax my roommate used on her legs (and I thought of spreading on a cracker more than once.) Comfort.
The truth is, I like good food. Creamy sauces, tender meats, rich desserts. I love it. Jason does too. And we are fine cooks. Jason can make a rib roast that will make you want to cry, all succulent meat and sweet roasted veggies, covered in a wine gravy from the concentrated broth...
But I like clothes as well. And let's face it, I don't get to wear all the clothes I want to because I can't fit into them the right way. As progressive as our society has become, they still haven't fully gotten that professional women in the size 16-20 area do not want to dress like the church lady. So if I want to be as cute as I know I am , I am going to have to drop this poundage.
Why did I have to move in across the street from the bakery?!?!
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