The Skirt Never Lies

It can no longer be avoided. I’ve got to start eating better. This morning, I put on my most formfitting skirt, and it doesn’t fit my form. When I walk, it creeps up and bunches around my waist in a desperate effort to contain my swaying buttocks. When I sit, the waistband threatens to bisect my middle. I avoid the scale and believe that jeans temporarily shrink a size after washing. The dry-clean only skirt, though, tells the bitter truth.

I’ve definitely been indulging lately. We’ve been through three pies in the last two months – marionberry, apple crumb, and cherry. (Mike detests any sort of “berry” pie, so guess who ate all of the marionberry variety.) To celebrate our recently purchased grill, I’ve eaten hotdogs at least three times a week. They weren’t fat-free dogs either; it takes some grease to get the wieners good and blackened. After describing my favorite sandwich (peanut butter/butter/honey) to a coworker a few weeks ago, I’ve found myself eating one a day.

I can reduce my pie, hotdog, and pb/b/h consumption, but what I’ll miss most is my daily donut. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I eat one every single work day morning. To my credit, I only eat one variety, and if it’s not available, I’ll pass the donut tray. When it’s there, though, I can’t resist the raspberry-jelly-filled, vanilla-frosted treat. The sugar jolts me awake more effectively than a cup of tea. Its doughy texture and greasy aroma soothe my frustration at spending yet another day inside staring at a computer screen. Once, I had two in one day; it was a rough day at work.

So, hello water, fresh fruits and veggies, and lean meat. Good-bye pie, good-bye hotdogs, goodbye pb/b/h, good-bye *sob* *sob* donuts. My skirt can no longer contain you. And it's too short for giant underpants.