Diets, bottoms and a fan too..

In my quest to lose weight, I had a rare moment of total brain failure about two weeks ago. I am convinced that if anyone had to connect me to an EEG machine at that moment, I would have been declared a medical miracle - a functioning body, but no brainwaves to be detected, not even a blip. During my sad state of absent cognitive functioning, I agreed to and embarked on a controlled diet. The word diet is an easy concept for me to understand; food that I want and prefer to eat, I cannot. The problem lies within the word controlled.  It is rather a simple arrangement really, although granted that it was not well thought out by yours truly, but it remains simple none the less; failing to reach the weekly target will result in my bottom being the target.
 

To ensure that I do honour and remember the agreement, appointments to “discuss” the results were scheduled for every second week as well. I have to note, that I  am truly amazed at some people’s kind-heartedness at times...The first appointment was scheduled for yesterday, and as  agreed, I had to submit my current weight in order to determine what form the discussion was going to take.  I entered the bathroom, pulled the scale closer, closed my eyes and took the step that would determine my fate. Incidentally, switching the scale on and off, shaking it, removing the battery and replacing it, having a serious discussion in a threatening tone with it, will make absolutely no difference in the number displayed.

Good news though, I did manage to lose some weight during these last two weeks, however, the bad news is, it was not enough. After some serious self-deliberation regarding entering the realm of dishonesty, the number was submitted. I only received three little words back: “Prepare for punishment.” Prepare? What exactly I had to prepare was beyond me...my bottom was there in all her glory, clenching a bit during the panicky moments, and sending desperate signals to my brain that running could be an option... During the “discussion” held yesterday afternoon, a decision was made that bath brushes will be added to the “Destroy at all cost” list immediately. It was the first meeting my bottom had with said implement, and it was hate on first impact. The fact that the swats were deliberate and strategically placed did not improve the relationship either.

I also had a problem understanding why Uncle Nick did find it so hilarious last night when I told him, that  I had enlisted the assistance of a fan, and that the cool air it was producing was  directed towards my bare bottom. It was the only home rememdy I could think of, to try and recover from what feels and looks like a very, very bad suntan. I really did not understand his laughter...I HATE sleeping on my stomach; it makes me dream of huge slices of chocolate cake...