It’s a thrill every time you see your scale change one of its first two digits, isn’t it? It’s like breaking through to a new “decade” or better, “century”, of weight! And thank goodness, unlike my age, this one is going backward. I stepped on the scale a bit dubious this morning because I had a couple of Deep Eddy Ruby Red Vodka with sodas last night with dinner. (Squirrel! We tried a new wee place called “The Fox Hole, A Culinary Tavern”. Despite the fact that our order was messed up in a couple of different ways, we were pleased. AND, oh my goodness, I ate some Brussels sprouts that weren’t on the verge of combusting into dust, like I cook them, and they blew my hair back. They were called “Crisped Brussels Sprouts: Texas pecans, heirloom beets, balsalmic, pecorino”. Yep, I’d go back for those alone.)
I do remember a time when I wouldn’t go near the scale because, for some obvious reason, it was stuck sending me to new decades (or centuries) in the upward trajectory. Man, this new thang, it’s pretty awesome!
That is all.
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