At this moment, I don’t care if I’m fat forever! Right now, I want to indulge in tons and tons of thick, sweet, fattening, gooey stuff. “Deep breath, slap yourself across the face, Rosemary! Get a grip. Calm yourself down. Take another breath.” Okay, I want to be thin more than I want to eat. The less I eat, the more I lose.
I’m proud I fought the almost uncontrollable urge to whip up a batch of yummy cookies. Thank goodness I had the strength to get out of the kitchen. What a poor, sick mess I am in; but at least I got out. (I told Allen how I had to leave the kitchen to retain any semblance of control. He immediately responded, with a silly grin on his face, “If you can’t take the treat, get out of the kitchen.” Oh! Isn’t he clever!)
I love a sign I recently saw: NOTHING TASTES AS GOOD AS BEING THIN FEELS. Monumental thought! But it’s on the cupboard door of a very fat woman’s kitchen. Evidently, it won’t provide the magic cure I have been looking for, but I like it anyway. I’m too chagrined to put it up in my kitchen, though, in plain sight of everyone. Maybe, when I weigh 125 pounds, I’ll have it printed in gold calligraphy and put on my refrigerator door to remind me of my struggle. Jenny says that when I weigh 125 pounds, I’ll wallpaper the whole kitchen with it!