I want to talk to you about stockings. Not the slutty kind I'll be strutting around in about 4 lbs from now, but the kind my mother in law fills to the brim with candy every Christmas.
We're a family of four, but half of the family is under mass-candy-consumption age. We had 4 stockings of candy, and when these were emptied into a wal-mart bag, it barely tied closed at the handles.
It took a good amount of willpower to sort through, pull out the fruit rollups and peanuts for Cary's snacks, as well as a few Three Musketeers and Special Dark fun sized bad boys for my dirty lady time (I'd buy them anyway, except the full sized bar and then hate myself all day for not being able to have just a bite). But I did it, packed them up and sent them to work with Doug so he could enjoy them at his leisure, be popular among his colleagues and more importantly, get the Reeses, Milky Way's and peppermint patties out of my greedy grasp.
I don't want her to stop doing this- someday when my kids become, well, kids they'll love it and it'll be a treat since we don't keep candy around. Grandma will be a hero, and I love those little traditions. However, it seems like these things just keep coming up, testing me. I was able to refrain from eating my own weight in chocolate sexheaven this time, but I don't know if I can every time.
Side note- I'm sorry I haven't been on top of the strength training stuff. My underarms feel pretty gross and I know I should really especially be doing stuff for my triceps, because if I don't you will, and its gonna be major armdeath. Same goes for abs. Problem is, my carpet smells bad and until I steam clean it next week I am afraid to get too close. Crab walking, crunching, and oh dear god planks are kind of hard to do when you're afraid of your own flooring.
Now that you're thoroughly disgusted by my slovenly home life, have a great day!
Burly
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