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Counting down to the 11th of November, the day I go under the knife, the most drastic exclamation that I have got to embrace eating to live instead of living to eat.
I will look forward to my croutons on a salad instead of my ice cream in a ladle.
Gastric sleeve surgery will give me the kick start I am looking for to lose weight.
I leave the quantifying of weight loss to the skinny people. I expect to shed at least the equivalent of a 4th grader in the first few months.
This is how much weight I eventually want to lose:
- I can cross my legs under a table.
- I can throw on a pair of jeans.
- I don't dread living rooms with deep cushiony sofas.
- I hope to run into an ex boyfriend.
- I can wear panty hose more than once.
- I can wear horizontal stripes (!)
- I don't break beach chairs.
- I wear a belt as an accessory.
- I wear clunky shoes and still look thin.
- My butt crack does not contine up my back.
And so on and so forth.
Hmmm. Flesh out (pun intended) the story behind each of the above and I've got a damn good best seller on my hands....
For now, this is me not eating the brownies my daughter smelled up the kitchen with.
I'll let you know if they survive the night.
