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Sunday, November 30, 2014

Pinky's Weight Loss Revelation!

I went for coffee last week with the 'Buzz Club' gals. We’d finished our staff meeting early and Kyles suggested we use the serendipitous occasion of unanticipated free time to have a catch up over coffee.

“I’ll give it a miss,” I apologised with a silly grin. “I have to go to the Discount Chemist.”

“We’ll go to a coffee shop in a shopping centre and you can go to the chemist there, Pinky!” ordered Kyles in her authoritative voice. 

I swear that girl channels a commanding officer from the Third Reich. She’s a five foot tall power house of frickin bossy boots.

“No cakes today?” I noticed as I arrived in my tardy and flustered fashion after going to the bloody shopping centre chemist and not finding that which I so desperately sought. 

Usually the girls have ordered extravagantly from the pastry counter and have the entire contents of a French patisserie spread before them.

“Nah… watching our weight so we look nice at the Christmas party on Friday night,” Kaz chirped.

They’ve all lost weight, the bi-atches. And all the weight they’ve lost via their rowing teams, boot camps and gym memberships over the last 12 months seems to have settled on Pinky’s hips; even though they eat like stable guests at the Melbourne Cup and I eat like a sickly bird.

“I have a theory about weight loss!” I exclaimed enthusiastically. “You wanna hear it?”

I caught the girls swapping glances but ignored their sceptical smirks and ploughed on.

“You know my dogs, right?”

Shazza rolled her eyes, sighed loudly and looked at her watch.

“Celine the fox terrier is six years old and menopausal (like me),” I continued undeterred. “And Pablo the Chihuahua is only a young buck at eighteen months, right?”

They all stared at me in boredom.

“They both eat exactly the same thing in the same amounts, okay? So which one do you think is the one with the weight issues?”
“How do you know Celine is meno?” asked Shazza.

“Because she had the operation five years ago and has to take medication for her incontinence,” I replied knowledgeably.

“Here’s the thing,” I squawked. “Celine is a nervous wreck. She’s really highly strung and never sits still. She’s also super active. We can throw a ball at her 300 times in a row and she just keeps bringing it back to us. She’s relentless. Like an Energiser Bunny! 

Thin as a twig!

Pablo, on the other hand, is a lazy little turd-burger. He lazes on the couch, painting his toenails and watches his sister chasing the ball. The only thing that moves on him are his bulging eyeballs from side to side.”
“So what are you saying, Pinky?” yawned Kaz.
“I’m saying,” I said, as I stirred my usual three sugars into my full fat cappuccino and pausing for dramatic effect, “the menopausal mamma is much thinner than the porky little young buck, which means… even though they eat the same calories, the exercise is keeping her thin!”

“So… this is your new theory, Pinky?” asked Kyles incredulously.
“Yeah, it’s brilliant huh? And guess what? I plan on losing my spare tyres over the next three weeks by doing some serious exercise. An hour long ‘power walk’ every morning and afternoon without fail!”
The girls shrugged noncommittally and the conversation switched over to a more banal and non-revelatory subject after that. 

By the time I looked at my watch it was 5:30 pm already.

“Shite in a bucket!” I squealed. “It’ll be too late for me to go for my walk now by the time I get home and all.”

The girls nodded in agreement.

“Maybe I should get Scotto to throw some balls for me instead?” 

Any weight loss tips for Pinky before Christmas?