And it is this: I fit into 34 inch waist trousers for the first time in a decade.
Bear with me* on this: Smaller appetite, plus doneing a poo at least five times a days means the weight has fallen off me, and I find myself having to pull up my trousers every five minutes and put another hole in my belt.
Before long, I'll be posting one of those Slimmer of the Year photos where the former bloater is standing in front of a "before" cut-out, while wearing a voluminous pair of trousers in a literal demonstration of their titanic weight loss.
This isn't going anywhere, I just want to be smug.
Smugness, being one of the few benefits of a month of hideous agony. I've earned this smugness.
* no, really. There's a bear with me aaaaaaaaargh
3 comments:
That's a nice purple top you have on there. Where did you get it?
Don't call me until there's a lion and tiger, too.
But WOO HOO for the 34" waist. You svelt little sex kitten, you.
If it makes you feel any better, my son was born in Frimley Park Hospital. There is no reason that bit of information should not perk you right up.
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