Mea culpa. I succumbed to the cream last night. Three mouthfuls – and I do mean mouthFULLS (squirted direct into gaping maw) - any more and it would have squirted out of my ears and nose! And I’ll leave you with that mental image, nice!
I think it was because of disappointment over my dinner – it was a cheese and mushroom omelette but bf went AWOL with the cheese (eventually arrived home 12.30am, drunk and cheeseless) so it had a pathetically minute amount of cheese and it stuck to the pan so it was more like (2 medium) scrambled eggs with a sprinkling of cheese and some mushrooms. And I was irritated that bf had forgotten to call me – I now know that more than likely he’s boozing not dead/injured, so don’t panic as I used to, but it does prey on my mind. If I know he’s going to be late, I enjoy my evening, watch a chick-flick or similar, but if I think he might be home at any time, I don’t want to get stuck into a film. 3 squirts isn’t too bad for me – I could easily have had much, much more. But that’s not supposed to be self-justification or an excuse, I shouldn’t have had it and that’s that. And I knew that one squirt would not be enough. There are Haribo on the desk behind me right now but I know that I couldn’t eat just one so, as hard as it seems to resist them, eating one would be harder than not eating them at all. But I am screaming inside that I’m not eating them (and they’re not even my favourite sour ones).
None of which seems to be doing me any good. Even though I wasn’t wearing my ‘pregnancy’ cropped jacket today, a man leant across the tube carriage to touch my arm sympathetically and offer me his seat. Sigh. And I'm sure he must be a very nice man but I hated him for it! On the other hand, I bought 'Now Celebrity Diet' trashy mag the other day (yes, shameful but true) and the man in the shop saw fit to tell me three times that it was “The diet one, you know – the other one’s over there”, gesturing wildly. I was simultaneously flattered at his incredulity over me buying a diet mag (although perhaps he was thinking ‘Crikey, look at the heifer, she’s clearly never dieted in her life’) and insulted that he thought I might read 'Now' anyway – shouldn’t he be directing me to, ooooh, not Vogue (unless dumpy frump is suddenly the new geek chic without me noticing, which I guess is entirely possible) but certainly, well, Marie Claire at least or ideally New Statesman, say or Literary Review (neither of which I’ve never so much as opened in my life) or something cerebral?! I guess it could be worse, could be Woman’s Own or – even worse – Best or Chat. I don't think I could handle that level of shame.
I have a dilemma next week. I will be staying overnight at my mum’s on Monday (delayed haircut) and so will not be able to weigh in on Tuesday. Now, do I WI on Monday morning or Wednesday morning? I suppose Wednesday would be more sensible but I know I’ll be worrying about it and would rather get it over. Waddya think?
I am still hoping that SB is working for me though (whilst fearing it won’t!) – one very odd thing I’ve noticed is that I’m not famished and counting down the minutes (or hours!) to the next snack or meal. I do get hungry from time to time but then it seems to subside. This is very curious indeed (but welcome).
So menu for yesterday:
B – V8 and then ‘mock oatmeal’ which is in the last chance saloon tomorrow
S – forgot and ran out of time
L – M&S tuna nicoise (not the ice pop version) with the olives, onion and potatoes chucked out. 6 walnuts I forgot at snack time
S – LF cottage cheese and a head of chicory
D –scrambled omelette (as above) with spinach and green beans
P – SF jelly
And my three things for yesterday will be tough:
1. Quick and smooth journey home
2. Plenty of opportunity to read in the evening
3. Didn’t fall over in the snow despite some slithering and uncool wild flailing
Yes, yes, they’re pathetic. Tomorrow’s will be better – I know this already!