I think I've killed my diet.
I had a whole 3 days of spectacular, salad-eating bliss with the occasional bowl of Farina for breakfast (shut up, I like it).
But the slope to grease and butter-coated goodness is a slippery one indeed.
You see, World, it started like this:
Pookie invited me out to happy hour with his coworkers. I figured I'd have a beer or two (ok, not exactly low-calorie food, but hey...I'm not a saint) and then maybe a small salad for dinner. Not exactly low-cal, but hey...it's better than a big greasy burger.
So, I got my salad (and my very delicious beer selection), and decided to dig in.
Oh cheese, how I missed thee. You see, this salad? Coated in cheese. A small factoid that I forgot to notice on the menu. You see, I thought I was doing well. Grilled chicken, pico de gallo, low-fat dressing.
And then there was the cheese. Cheese is, apparently, a bitch to avoid.
So, that's how it started. The next day, I indulged in a burger.
A homemade burger without all the grease and extra fat and preservatives, but a burger nonetheless. And the cheese? A nice lovingly melted slice adorned my
Let me tell you World, it was like my taste-buds were invited to the biggest frat-party of the season, and fat was their drug of choice.
Long story short, I believe that today I've reached the pinnacle of shame for dieters everywhere.
I had a Blizzard from Dairy Queen.
And if I don't watch it, I'm going to look like a Dairy Queen.
Fish for tonight. Going back on that diet.