So waking up yesterday after the biblical storm on Thursday night, it was time to pluck up courage to do a rather unpleasant job. I am rather good at steering clear of the task in question, preferring to do anything else to avoid it. So between doing the dreaded task, I managed to walk the two dogs, do a Tesco shop, and clean son number one's bedroom. That was an education, I can tell you. I then managed to wash and iron all of our holiday clothes in record time.
So with nothing left to do, I had no excuse not to do the dreaded job, however hard I tried.
Dragging my feet, I headed up to the bathroom, where the most hated apparatus resided. The scales. It was time to face the music after a week of cider, fish and chips, cream teas and cornets.
Stripping down as far as I dare, I exhaled fully, whilst sucking in my stomach (has to help, doesn't it?) Earrings were removed, along with my watch and a hair scrunchy. Stepping very gingerly onto the scales, I braced myself for the verdict. If my scales were the talking kind, I would have expected it to shout out in a strangled voice, 'One at a time please!' Looking down, my face now going red due to lack of oxygen, I waited as the dots on the display stopped running across the screen. The suspense was killing me (along with the lack of breathing) and then all of a sudden, there it was. In black and white with no place to hide.
I shan't disclose what my poor scales said (it's enough that you all know that I am nearly 53) but if I said that I shall only be eating celery for the next month, you probably have a fair idea what I am up against. This is sort of ok for me though. My wonderful friend Mrs S (she of the newly decorated cottage) once told me that she considers September to be a good month to start something new (like starvation?) as the kids are going back to school etc, and you tend to reclaim part of your life back again.
So I am not worried. With all the kids going or gone (except for daughter number one who shows no sign of moving on in the foreseeable future) it will give me the chance to get back on the food treadmill of life. In the meantime though, it will be loose trousers and long shirts for the next couple of weeks until the lack of food starts having an effect on my plump rump.
On a completely different note, son number two announced that he and his BFF are now an item. This gives me quite a dilemma. For the last nine months she has been known as the BFF, but what now?
Various suggestions rattling around my head are PFDIL (Possible Future Daughter In Law) or LPI (Lightly Pencilled In). My favourite though, and the one which she shall be known as going forward is ELL (Everyone Loves Lucy)
Because we do....