Swimsuit season

I don't know what it is about marriage and weight gain. It's not like I am cooking any more than I ever have, heaven forbid. And the whole thing about contentment leading to extra pounds is a bunch of bologna (mmm, bologna). I am more stressed out than ever, with school and thesis and job and furniture shopping...the pounds should be dripping off me! But no. I have gotten bigger everywhere (and not in a good way) since the day we said "I do."

I thought I had four months to get back into my fighting weight. Four months, that’s do-able. I can cut out cookies after lunch and pastries with my coffee and feel somewhat presentable by the time capri weather hits. But then my husband sprung a three-day Daytona Beach weekend on me. Can you believe the nerve? In less then four weeks, I have to don a swimsuit. In public.

Sigh. Since the Jones-Blogagaard Annual Writers Run is not yet scheduled, I can’t count on that as my motivator. I must think of something else. Apparently, the horror and humiliation of wearing a two-piece in front of friends and strangers is not enough. Oh yeah, and did I mention we are going on family vacation (there are like, a 1000 people in my newly acquired family) to a WATER PARK?!

No more butter on my toast. No more toast. No more hazelnut cream in my morning decaf. But I won’t give up my Frosted Mini-wheats Strawberry Delights no matter what you say. I love those things.

I’ll be on the treadmill if you need me.