The Two-Faced Mirror

I'm pissed at the my old friend, the mirror. I guess that's overstating it a bit, since the mirror has never really been an old friend of mine. Revision: I'm pissed at the mirror. The mirror led me to believe that it would be okay to wear those old crop pants that I loved so much....a year ago. The mirror led me to believe that by wearing the cute new lightweight sweater with the old crop pants would disguise the caboose and the big old engine leading up at front. When I went to the bathroom at work today and got a glimpse at Scooby's sideview, I nearly shut myself in the bathroom, broke my jaw and wired it shut with the chain in the toilet tank.

I swore to myself that I'd never eat again. I swore that I'd lose 30 pounds before I go on vacation to Colorado in a week and a half. I tried to make a deal with God that if he'd allow that to happen for me that I'd go to church every week now and forevermore.

The truth is, I know God doesn't make deals. The truth is, I know that I can't lose 30 pounds in 10 days. The truth is, I know I have to eat again sometime in the future. The truth is, I know that I could never take the pain of having my jaw broken and wired shut. The truth is, the thought of having anything from the toilet in my mouth is really the most disgusting thought I've had in a long, long time.

I didn't start this blog to complain about my life, my love life or my weight. It just so happens that this week...they ALL suck old, nasty, rotten, pickled eggs. I've never had old, nasty, rotten, pickled eggs, but I imagine they'd taste like I'm feeling right now.

In fact, as soon as I got home I nearly jumped out of my old crop pants because the button was biting into my stomach like a doberman. I could barely breathe and really wanted to pull an Al Bundy and unbutton my pants so there'd be an extra 1/2 inch of space in there. And now....right now....I'm sitting in a tank top and my panties because the thought of putting another ounce of clothing on my body makes me think I'd be putting on another 10 pounds.

It's not a lovely picture, so try not to get a visual of Scooby, my friends. I guess that strawberry margarita and long island iced tea didn't help....but at least I committed to drinking my dinner instead of eating my sorrows away. It's all about picking your poison.