Snow Sweater Redux

So, I cannot tell a lie – Irma wore the snow/cat sweater again last night, and one of our meeting members asked to take a photo of it. I coulda/shoulda taken one as well, but I think my fellow member was being sincere, so I let it ride.

And, ok, to be fair, I was riding high after weigh-in. Down, another 1.8 pounds for a grand total of 10.4 pounds in 4 weeks. Not bad. Not bad at all.

And really, it’s not been that hard. Now, this weekend promises to bring new challenges. Like the challenge of parties. The Mad Men Cocktail party on Saturday – piece of cake*. The birthday girl/honoree is healthy, so most of the calories there will be of the alcoholic variety, and they don’t tempt me. And if that weren’t enough of a barrier, I’m on antibiotics.

Yes, that’s right. Remember the bump on my head from last post? Well, I went to an urgent care center. After three hours and one Kindle book, I learned it’s an infected sebaceous cyst, for which he gave me antibiotics and narcotics. The former seem to be helping and after taking the later once and itching all night, I have put down the narcotics. Who knew? I used to love hydrocodone, but that’s one more treat that a tonsillectomy ruined for me. I’ll come back to that though.

So the Mad Men Cocktail Party, that’s a snap.

And then, we have Super Bowl Sunday. Now, as far as this goes, it used to be that the only bowl that kept my rapt attention was the one filled with Sausage/Cream Cheese/Rotel dip.
Followed by the bowl of Tostitos Scoops to carry dip to mouth. Well, that dip, those scoops… they’re going to be there. I’m going to be there. Only one of us will be the victor. I have cleared it with our hostess and I am going to bring a platter of crudités to end all crudités. And some kind of dip involving Greek yogurt, dill and garlic. Who needs pigs-in-a-blanket? I have asparagus. And again, I’ll take something fun to drink - Cherry Diet Dr. Pepper? Diet Barq’s? The sky, is indeed, the limit.

But I’ll be damned if I give in to a Crock-Pot full of goo.

Deliciously heaven-sent goo, but… a girl has to know when to walk away, and know when to run.

And for now, that’s it.


*No actual cake to be consumed. Figure of speech, folks.