The Nazi Pleasantry

Well, that was a surprise.

Yes, went walking this morning, but nowhere near my sometimes-six-miles, just a bit of an uphill meander, really, heading to our local Costa, where, pre-weigh-in, I had two large-ass Costa coffees (and anyone who's been in there recently knows they're getting enTIRELY out of hand, size-wise - they're basically buckets.

Came home and dragged out the Nazi Scales. Oh, should say, last night's main meal - pasta. With Bread. So big old carbfest, relatively late in the evening, so doing everything conceivable that one shouldn't do the day before a weigh-in if one wants ones Nazis to be nice to one.

Nevertheless, dragged the Nazis out this morning, and they sat, grumbling and muttering curses up at me. I think I woke them up, and to be fair, who's at their best under those circumstances. Still, got on them.
"18st 9," they said.
"Really?" I asked.
"Really," they said, yawning. "It's not good, you know - you still need to lose four stone before you're anywhere near good."
"Yeah, I know," I agreed. "It's just, also, nowhere near as bad as I was expecting."
"You're freaking welcome," they said. "Now get the hell off us, we were having a nice dream about crushing the lesser, fatter faces underfoot..."
"Charming, I'm sure," I said and returned them to their place of hibernation. So - the spiral of control begins again, but from a much better place - some five pounds at least lighter - than where I genuinely imagined I would be this morning.

And yes, before you ask, of COURSE I'm now calculating what might happen if I don't have breakfast for a few hours and wait for the two big coffees to go through my system, and wake the Nazis up again. Of course I am - you don't get this way without a certain degree of compulsion and a devious, self-deluding, cheating streak in your nature, believe me.

But shouldn't do that. Should be sensible.

Should be...