*%@# this Diet!

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Love.  That’s a four-letter word I would never associate with a diet.  Nope.  Not ever.

But, I really, really love this diet. 

You see, this past weekend I went on an estrogen-rich camping trip in which every single solitary calorie known to mankind was present.  And I ate them.  I think I ate them all.  Well, except for the ones claimed by the super-thin model-goddesses who lingered in the cabin kitchen sneaking powdered sugar donuts when their daughters weren’t looking. 

I had gone with the intention of keeping to my strict diet plan.  I had brought ingredients to adhere to it faithfully.  And then, somewhere about the chocolate chip oatmeal cookie, I lost it.  I crammed it all in. 

And on the way home, I ate half a small pizza and all my daughter’s crusts (I adore crusts.  They are manna from heaven.)  And I topped it off with a small jar of Halloween candy during my long soak in the bath.

Monday morning, I knew I would be paying on the scale.  I was okay with it.  I had definitely earned every ounce that scale would show.  So, I weighed in.  I slid the balance to about 4 pounds heavier, recognizing that I typically gain 3 pounds from one pizza night.  The scale thunked down.  Okay, too heavy.  I slowly slid the scale lighter.  And lighter.  And lighter.  And realized that I’d lost a quarter of a pound over the weekend. 

WHEEEEeeeeeeeeeeee! 

Okay, so it’s not as though I should be keeping score, but, well, I am.

And, though I never thought I’d say this about a diet, allow me to repeat, I love this diet.

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