Death of a Grouper

Remember when I posted this on my Grouper post:

photo

That was on January 22.  Almost 4 months ago.  Since then I have completely changed my eating habits.  That picture actually makes me sick.  It just doesn’t float my boat anymore.

I’m kinda proud of myself.  And to say I’m shocked would be the understatement of the year.  Because when I said I was a grouper, I meant it.  In every sense of the word.  I was literally a bottom feeder.

The ultimate test was this:  I went out to dinner with DH the other night and he ordered desert.  I took half a bite because he made me.  I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’m notorious for caving under peer pressure.  It did not taste good.  For once, I actually ate less than hubby.

As far as the children of Ethiopia go?  I’m sorry kids.  If I could be promised it would make it to you without spoiling, I’d send it over.  But from now on, unless it’s low-fat and healthy, that leftover crap is going straight into the trash.  And I got to this place without a stitch of therapy.  Go figure.

We cannot predict the future.  Anything can happen.  But what I can control, I will.  Honestly, I would like to live to see the kid get married and have children.  Yes, I am admitting it.  I’d like to be a grandmother one day.  And not one that is overweight and wrought with medical problems.  Thank you very much.

“A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips” is so true on so many levels.  So choose wisely my friends.  It’s a matter of life and death.  But it’s okay to splurge once in a while.  In fact, I encourage it.  Go for oysters and wine.  Then exercise those suckers right off.  Wink wink…

Mo
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