thank god that muumuus seem to be making a comeback. if not for the batwing floppy top i'd be screwed. as it is, our foray into the world of nanaimo culture (joni mitchell's "the fiddle and the drum" ballet) had me creeping against the walls in the horrifying realisation that i have a fat lumpy back. i have never had a fat lumpy back before. let me tell you - i do not like it.
i work out with perfectly coiffed old ladies 2-3 times a week. i walk uphill (both ways) on a semi-regular basis. i even try to limit my wine consumption (i know!). alas and alack, we have an astounding (and by astounding i mean satanically unequivocally evil) number of stellar (and by stellar i mean malevolently flagitiously heinous) bakeries that make truly delicious (and by delicious i mean...hell, you look it up; i'm running out of synonyms for "of the general vicinity of gehenna") bread.
while i can easily say no to wonderbread* or what passes for baguettes in most grocery stores, i cannot so easily walk away from a sourdough made from a real sourdough starter, or a double baked german rye whose crust requires the use of one's full uninterrupted dentition. nor, it seems, can i say no to creme brulee. but then again, i never could. i think it would make me less than human if i did. after all, come on - creme brulee, you know?
so, what to do? and how is it that while i always figured moving away from fort mac would result in me sleeping better (it did! it did!), looking better (meh.) and losing a tonne of weight from the sheer joy of it, the results have been, well, the reverse of the expected, frankly. is it because in fort mac i was so very worried about mr. monkey that i fed him vast quivering gobs of vegetable matter and now i figure the balmy air of bc is nutritious enough? because, my little poultries, if you eat the recommended 10 servings** of veg and fruit, you'll have precious little room for other stuff, like cake...oh cake....
this age-related metabolic slow down thing really really sucks.
so. keep checking on me, willya? call me names. being cheerfully called chubster mcfatty would likely do wonders for the rate of my cake consumption. missy backbacon ought to work as well. and i suspect that you can come up with some good ones yourselves. so go to town, my little poultries, mama's got to lose this gut!
my faithful audience (all 4 of you), thank you for listening.
*good lord, why, america? why? just answer me that one thing and i'll let you off the hook on all the messing about you've been doing on the political world stage. it's almost better than the crime against humanity that is wonderbread. gack.
** yeah, yeah, i know, the official number is 4-5 servings, but i'm with the health nuts on this one. at least theoretically.