I have a weight problem. I'm not really sure if it's because for a year after I had back surgery I turned into a lazy slug afraid to do anything or because I turned 50...or a combination of both.
Now I have fat hanging around my stomach where I never had fat before...well, I mean there may have been a little layer, but nothing like there is now. All my life I've had chubby thighs and a fat butt, but now it's creeping up into my stomach. Migrating fat, like the eyebrow hairs that migrated to my chin. Only this fat is defying gravity because it's migrating up. It's like I have miraculous fat.
So now I'm faced with the fact that I either have to 1) eat less or 2) exercise or, God forbid, both. None of this appeals to me. I'm totally annoyed at the thought I can't eat what I want. In my world there is no such thing as a day without ice cream.
I'm sort of in a quandary because I can't decide whether to bite the bullet and really try to do something about the girthage, instead of just talking/complaining about it, or just buy bigger pants.
All blame for the excess tonnage belongs to The Pioneer Woman. I've become hooked on her website and have been cooking/baking recipes from that site. I'd like to kill my friend Dawn for introducing me to that spawn of Satan site. I suppose killing seems a little harsh, but I'd definitely like to sock her in the arm...really hard. Every recipe has butter, sugar, or cream in some form. It's fabulous. I'm addicted. I've made the pound cake three times, the oatmeal crispies three times, malted milk chocolate chip cookies twice, chocolate sheet cake once, strawberry shortcake cake once, carrot cake once...and so on. I try to take the stuff to work so I don't eat it ALL myself but a lot of it gets shoved down the ol' pie hole.
So here I sit with the top button of my jeans undone so I don't cut off circulation to my lower extremities debating whether to have a slice of pound cake for breakfast...it's the stoopidist thing.