It started with a thought. Chocolate. No, had that yesterday. Summer blackberry cobbler ice cream (for real!). No, a praline. No, a candy bar. Wait, I don't even have a candy bar.
WAIT! I am not going to eat any of that crap. Nope, not gonna do it. Watermelon. I'm going to have sweet, icy cold, melt-in-your-mouth watermelon. It's right there in the fridge, so perfectly yellow with those cute little back seeds. (Aren't you almost tasting it? No? Try harder!)
Let's look back on the day. Fiber for breakfast, grilled fish for lunch, a workout (cardio and weights--impressive)... Why would I screw that up now? Well, I have someone to blame. It was Bob...again. Oh, you don't know Bob? He's my sweet tooth who is anything but. Trouble since day one.
Bob: Watermelon. Just water pretty much. Ice cream? That's sweet cream, sugar, milk blended into a heavenly friendship for your mouth.
Me: Shut up, Bob. Do you want me back in 12s or what?
Bob: A size 12? It don't matter, baby. You'll be happy in caramel and crisp bliss.
Me: Not happy in a dressing room looking at a muffin top--and I don't mean the tasty breakfast treat either.
Bob: Are you worried about a man? He will love you no matter what. You have a great personality.
Me: Oh, hell no. We are not playing this game. You've got to go. If I have to stuff myself silly with five cups of carrots, I will!
Bob: Please... 7 hours left in the day? You know I'm going to get my way and get my ice cream. I rule.
*sigh* And so he does. The watermelon was great, by the way. And so was the praline.
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