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Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Don’t Bother with the Diet Crap!

So guys, the sheriff is back in Dodge City.

Remember how my husband, Scotto, left town to start a new job and I wasn’t going to see him again until we sold the house?

Well, we haven’t sold the house... despite dropping the price by fifty grand as a red spot special. And it was unfeasible financially for the husband to stay away… or for me to move down what with all the dogs, so... he’s back.

Sans job.

I too, will be sans job until 2017. Fortunately, we both have a combined 9 months long service leave between us, so we’ll be okay.

But the thing is, while he was away for the last month, I thought I’d surprise him with a modelesque physique when I next saw him. I thought I’d have him dribbling in lust at my Kate Moss body after weeks of self-imposed starvation and physical torture when he next saw me.

I’ve been living on 800 calories a day and power walking for an hour a day at 5am before work.

Every damn day.

In the meantime, he’s been skyping me as his cheesy pizza sits heating in the oven, or his 500gram steak sizzles on the stove with garlic bread on the side with a family block of chocolate set aside for before bed, tucked into his pillow case.

When I finally saw my husband today, after an entire month of estrangement and deprivation on my part, he laughingly joked, “Don’t look at my big gut, Pinky. I might have put on a kilo.”

I replied politely, “What gut, silly? You don’t look any different to me sweetheart.”

Then he replied with the most soul destroying words I’ve ever heard.

“Neither do you, sweetie!”


(Sorry for swearing.)

What the hell? Are you like me and are just starting to think, I'm just going to let it all go to hell in a hand basket?