Yeah, I'm kind of a big deal.
But sometimes I notice my pants must have shrunk lightly in the dyer and it seems my belt must have gotten tighter by witch craft.
|You think I would have heard some cackling or something.|
While it's obvious that weight had nothing to do with these two occurrences, I might as well eat a little healthier so I don't have to go out and buy new clothes. And that's when I get the terrible idea to go on a diet.
Diets are a heck of a lot like a terminally ill cat you decide to adopt. They are not gonna last. You go ahead and make the decision to do something good, and you do it with a grimace on your face. You won't enjoy it. You buckle down with some intense self discipline and MAKE yourself eat celery/pet the cat.
You glare at the nutritional facts/the eye goo you have to clean out.
And you shed a little tear when you pass the doughnuts int the store/it brushes up next to you and you feel its scabs.
But you WANT to do good. You really do. So you keep trying. You keep your head high and go about it like you're actually enjoying it when in all reality you are simply waiting for those pants fit enough so you don't need a coat hanger to zip them/the cat finally gives up and admits defeat.