One month ago today my husband went out of town on business. At the time, I consoled myself with the fact that his absence would give me the opportunity to “eat like a girl” (read: salads, not steaks) and work out whenever I wanted.
And, for the most part, I did eat like a girl. I’ve had Healthy Choice or Lean Cuisine for lunch and dinner each day, and breakfast has consisted of either a Slim Fast shake or a bagel with that fake-butter spray.
Sure, I’ve had nachos twice and one day I even ate a cheeseburger — man, that was good — but for the most part I’ve been eating just a fraction of what I ordinarily do.
So, ok, I didn’t work out for an hour each day. I didn’t even work out a half hour each day, but I’ve certainly been a bit more active than when he’s home. I’ve had better sleep, too.
But does my scale show it? Does it show any loss at all?
No. No it does not.
My clothes fit the same, so I don’t even get the Fat Girl’s consolation that “Oh, but I’ve gained muscle even if I haven’t lost weight!” (a mantra which conveniently ignores that a pound is a pound the whole world ’round).
This sucks. I suck. I’m so disappointed and so sick of frozen, prepackaged meals! Tomorrow night I’m tucking in to a big, juicy rib eye and a baked potato topped with sour cream. Screw the diet. I am hungry, dammit.
Dieting will resume Monday. Honest.
Chubby Mommy 
