My new sandals, a present from my hubbie for no reason other than me being so beautifull and perfect- HA!At Dr. McTiny's office, my nutriologist,
Dr. McTiny: Hello CT, how did you do these past two weeks?
CT: Umm... Well, I got a lot of crocheting done (Dr. McT glances sideways at me from her computer screen, then turns around to give me her full attention. She knows what's comming next, our bi-weekly two woman version of the Three stooges. I'm not telling you which one am I)
DMT: Ooookay... how about your diet? did you follow it? (looks straight to my eyes, past the ocular globe, into the brain... I'm sure she'll 'tsk-tsk' in her mind when she finds that Special dark Hershey's I had a few days ago...)
CT: Well....
DMT: Well?
CT: It's been a crazy couple of weeks
DMT: Crazy how, exactly?
CT: you know, crazy, new job, the girls are ill...
DMT: Did you exercise? (I nearly choke in my attempt to stiffle a laugh)
CT: New job, the girls are ill...
DMT: did you sleep your eight hours? (clearly, this woman has not lived in the same house with a one year old and a two year old or she would have realized the futility of her question)
CT: New job, the girls are ill...
DMT: (looks blankly at me. She knows me. We have know each other from outside the clinic for a long time, so she can call my s**t when she hears it, but since BH is with me, she seems to think twice and decides against it. Little pitchers have big ears and she knows BH will repeat it to potential customers, family and whoever wants to hear plus their neighbours cat) Get on the scale
Now, DMT is a sweet woman, tiny, slim (as every nutriologist SHOULD be but not always is - and I know a thing or two about it) with a sweet, small voice, but when she says those four words it's like the voice of Judgment... and somehow I think I will not be found wanting... the opposite rather in this instance, and that is not a good thing. Nope.
It's not a good thing either when dumb objects start shaking in fright in your proximity, and I could almost swear before a judge and jury that the scale was doing precisely that. Or maybe it was me. I stepped on it and closed my eyes. Meanwhile, BH is playing kitchen with all the mock food DMT has in her office, and asking DMT if she can stay and help her heal people.
So for the veredict. I went up one pound. One greasy, mean, chocolatey, torta -milkshakey-and-pizza- and-icecream pound.
But, can you blame me for not following a diet to the letter when I have to serve stuff like THIS everyday? well, can you?
Good thing my new sandals (which my hubbie has made for me, made, mind you, not bought) fit me no matter what weight fluctuations I may be experiencing these days.
