Good Morning Gentle Readers,
All the guy has to do is walk through the bedroom and carelessly toss his Levi's onto the dresser while making his way to the shower and, Bam! She's preggers. We all know this chick. Some of you *are* this chick. Some of us are married to this chick.
Well that's TWC. All he has to do is inhale the aroma of a standing rib roast while ambling past the dining room and the scale starts ticking upward. The days of shoveling three or four burgers down the hatch (with impunity) after a Sunday afternoon of tackle football with friends (played barefoot and without equipment--ask Miltie) and then moseying home to see what Ma had in the oven for dinner are but a distant glimmer. That skinny boy left town.
There are around 700 calories in an average bottle of red wine. I know I give away those calories with this wine habit, but still, a man ought to be able to eat a few decent meals during the holidays without the mid section of all his shirts shrinking in the dryer. Wait. When Americans made clothing, this didn't happen. Maybe the the Chinese are to blame.
Long way around the barn to say, I've got 1.8 pounds left to dump to get back to what I weighed before Thanksgiving Day when I needed to lose twenty more. Sheesh.