Someone told me that once. I nearly killed him on the spot out of sheer principle... well that and the need for a convenient target to unleash all my monthly hormones and irrationality on.
I've matured since then. Now I just torture victims in subtle and frightening ways.
Okay, so they aren't all that subtle. And my potential victims have learned enough to stay just beyond arm's reach. And to hide potential weapons. And to leave plenty of chocolate peace offerings.
Just picture that scene with the M&Ms out of ET. Yeah, that about sums it up.
So Saturday was supposed to produce an update on my weight loss progress, but it didn't. It's like this.
My monthly trek into the happy vacation land of cramping, bloating, mood swings, water retention, random flashes of homicidal rages, bright red waterfalls, headaches, and maniacal urges to mutilate anything too slow to outrun me began Friday.
I weighed myself Saturday morning. The scale said I had gone back up to 164 pounds. Steve pointed out that it had taken me months to find a scale I liked as much as the one we currently had and that my jumping up and down on it while screaming violent threats at the top of my lungs really wasn't all that great for it.
And for some odd reason, everything in the house that had a pulse seemed to avoid me the rest of the afternoon.
There was no way I was going to admit to the internet that I had gotten HEAVIER while working out and dieting.
So no update.
Yesterday was Sunday and I managed to behave myself. Even after discovering that someone at church had left the coffee pot on...
All. Week. Long.
I must have looked really odd racing through the church halls holding a glass pot at arm's length while a blackbrown stain on the bottom of it bubbled and oozed like it had a slowmotion heartbeat. I honestly shudder at the thought of what might have happened if the pot hadn't been nearly overflowing when I agreed to leave it on for someone else's use last week.
Okay, it's church and we're taught to be patient and understanding and remember that we aren't perfect ourselves. In my case, rather than striving for perfection I strive for surviving most of my choices from day to day. This is becoming something of a challenge.
Anyhoo, last night I was sitting at the computer mucking around when I suddenly realized that I had torn a massive hole in the inner thigh of my favorite jeans and there was about to be a matching hole on the other thigh. My favorite jeans! Are you kidding?!?!?
PMS urges.... going into overdrive...
Down girl... deep breaths... deep breaths...
Having successfully reduced me to a quivering mass of frayed nerves just waiting for an excuse to implode on a cosmic level, Aunt Flo calmly packed up and sauntered off to make someone else's family miserable for a week.
So I got up this morning to get ready for work and decided to give the scale a chance to redeem itself.
That's better. I think I'll celebrate with a bit of chocolate.