d: "This is the worst time of the day for me."
Me: *Chomping grimly through grapes.* "Mm-hmm."
d: "I want something SWEEEEET!"
d: "At least you've got your grapes."
Me: "You WANT some grapes?"
d: "Hell no!"
Me: "I don't blame you, they're a million light years from pleasure."
d: "Eat the damn grapes!"
---
Soooo, that's how we're doing.
In additional news, the universe is clearly fucking with me.
Went away for three days last week to meet the people with whom I now, newly work. Schlepped from West Wales to Leamington Spa, and found myself on relatively short rations, inasmuch as I couldn't do my usual thing of grazing throughout the day, because - humans.
Did the good things - eschewed the massive red velvet cake that was offered to me, didn't drink the alcohol, had only coffee and soft drinks.
Let the record show that the hotel in which we stayed had no diet options - so a potentially unfeasible amount of wildly unrestricted lemonade and a fair few J2O sugar-bombs went down my neck.
But nothing that might under normal circumstances be considered excessive.
Had what I euphemistically describe as a "digestive flume" Sunday morning, which has only one benefit, in that it cleans out your system and should, in any even remotely fair universe, make you weigh less than you did beforehand.
I weighed half a pound more than I did at my last official weigh-in. So clearly, that can fuck right off.
As can this morning's weigh-in.
16 stone, 11.25 pounds. Overall, up two full pounds since I started avoiding the drawerful of chocolate I have, and suchlike other fun things.
There's a certain righteous "Fuck it all!" urge that rises when you do the better things and get what feels like "punished" for it. All I can say is my eyes and nerves and kidneys and such better be thankful for this bullshit, that now sees me closer to the next half-stone upward than I am to my original goal of the downward half-stone.
Humph.
Am off to eat a grape, dammit.
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