I let myself get too hungry last night and then got home late and ate too much for dinner.
The positive? I had completed a weight-training workout before going to work yesterday morning. That's good, right?
Jon got me a "gift" for Valentines day. He comes in the room and says "I know you're on a diet, but...."
The rest of the words were something about calories not counting on Valentines Day.
Then he produced a pint of my favorite flavor of full-fat, calorie-laden, easy-to-start-but-hard-to-stop-eating Ben & Jerry's ice cream.
Part of me was thrilled and the other part was MAD.
(My 8th grade science teacher used to say that dogs get mad, people get angry. But part of me was MAD.)
What's he trying to do, sabotage my efforts? He knows I'm busting my butt. He knows I've been working hard to reduce my pant size. Doesn't he know that I am such a black or white dieter that I can't afford to even look at this ice cream for fear I'll be scraping the bottom of the pint in ten minutes?
But let's be real; It's not like I'm never, ever gonna eat ice cream again. That wouldn't really be very realistic, now would it?
So, here's the plan, Stan. (My Dad's gonna be proud of me...he loves a plan.)
Three bites. That should be just enough. Eating a bit without getting carried away will be key.
And maybe I can play a game and see how long it'll actually take me to eat the entire pint. My record for speed in consuming a pint is somewhere around 30 minutes. No kidding.
And to Jon...thanks for the ice cream, babe. I'm grateful that you thought of me. This will force me to conquer the beast. And this'll be good for me.
But next time? Go with the flowers.