Sunday, June 16, 2013

Day 16: I'm a Skinny Beeyatch, Plus I Love My Daddy, Plus Yes That Was Me Coughing in Church

Today's weigh-in made me squeal — did you hear me?
  • June 16 weight: 252.5
Fat Secret says that at this rate I'll be at my goal in nine months.

Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

I know that will not and can not be, but it is still lovely to think about. Fat Secret has not been such a fan of mine in the past year — it's nice to be on its good side again.

And finally, sturm und drang are workin' for me!!

Also, I called my sweet dad to wish him a happy Father's Day, and we had a jovial chat. He usually hands the phone to Mom within moments of my calling, so keeping him on the line and engaged for 15 minutes felt like a major victory. Highlights of his Father's Day (besides talking to me, natch):
  • Reading the clipping I sent him about a TV show called Oh, Sit!, which is a game show about . . . musical chairs. He and I share a finely tuned sense of the absurd, I knew this would be right up his alley.
  • Corn fritters for breakfast!
  • A day of golf tournaments, televised baseball, and rotting in his favorite chair
  • A martini, garnished with one of Trader Joe's World's Largest Olives, one of his gifts from most thoughtful daughter-san
  • Fried oysters and apricot crisp for dinner!
Sounds good to me.

Husband is also having a splendid day, I believe, though he's been gone for most of it, driving about and taking in the new Superman flick. He'll be home soon to tell me all about it.

And finally: the dry cough that Bride Boy brought here from the West Coast has re-emerged, and Li'l Martini and I are its victims. I have malaise in my throat and I cough and cough and cough. I never touched her, but I still blame Catherine Zeta-Jones.

I've been working all day, in the hope that if I finish everything on my plate I can take a sick day tomorrow and just wallow and drink hot things and pull a blanket over my head. Now, why don't I take the sick day today when I'm sick, you ask? Because I am too Type A to be able to wallow when there's work on my plate. Work first, wallow later, that's my Type A motto. And my blood pressure is picture perfect, thank you very much. Each to her own.

But I'm petering out now, so I am in fact calling it a day and will likely work a little in the a.m.

But then I wallow!

Unless I feel better. You never know.

In the meantime, I shall revel in my four-and-a-half-pound weight loss and go pose for my children.

Happy Father's Day! Love my daddy. And you all too.

Lady C, cough cough cough

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