Well I managed to break my decision to start an extreme diet tonight, at 11:35, by eating three Haribo Sour Fries while sitting here trying to decide what to write. It’s ok, I never considered it a resolution, nothing’s been broken. This diet idea was/is just my back-up plan to cope with the 14-day bacchanalia that Oliver and I just finished.
Man, I hate to be back at work but I am happy to be home.
Keeping up with the in-laws ain’t easy. But at least I actually kept up and didn’t fall asleep in the corner like in years past. Still that’s not much to be proud of considering one couple in our party had a four and a half month old preemie who’s still breastfeeding, another couple had a year-old toddler and one on the way and another couple was handicapped with a kidney transplant keeping him off the booze. Not exactly a victory to parade around the clubhouse.
No pictures of me, eyes shut, mouth slack with a noisemaker hanging out of it. That means something.
Inside of two weeks we managed to tuck a two-day wedding in Austria, an anniversary party and Christmas in Bremen and New Years in Austria (again). All in that order.
There was no snow in Austria worth mentioning, so instead we ate and drank more. Don’t bother visiting Austria this year, there’s nothing left. We consumed it all. It was good.
The price of all this fun has been the fit of my jeans. Namely, that they don’t. Hence the idea of the extreme diet. Because I don’t want to leave the house to go exercise. Because the kitten is too cute to be left alone.
Fergus is currently jumping up and pulling all my laundry off the rack, often overshooting his mark and falling over to the floor. He’s pretty adorable. Last night, sitting on the couch with Olli (yep still here!) with Fergus cuddled in my arms, we were talking about how adorable he is, and how smart, and what a great personality he’s developing into, what college he’ll attend… and then – I kid you not – right in the middle of all his, the kitten scoots up my arm and reaches over and puts a paw on my cheek. Then he puts his other paw on my other cheek and, standing with his back feet balanced on my arm, reaches up and nuzzles the tip of his nose to mine and gives me a purr-filled eskimo kiss.
Then he tucked his head under my chin and went back to sleep. That little guy knows what side his bread is buttered on and he’s laying it on thick. I just want to sprinkle him with sugar and eat him.
This was supposed to be a story about the two pairs of totally cool, yet completey unsexy shoes I bought myself this month, but apparently I’m not ready to divulge. Instead I first had to purge myself of holiday trivia, which you just read through.
The shoes will have to wait until tomorrow.