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Okay, so I'm pretty happy about the diet right this second. I lost another pound this week, bringing the grand total to 6 pounds in 6 weeks. I know that pace won't last. I know it from past experience, but it doesn't pierce the lovely glow I feel right now.

I also feel queasy, though. Why? See that picture above? That is from a tapas restaurant (I always think people are saying "topless" restaurant) where I am dining tonight. How will I possibly conquer this challenge? I don't dare drink any wine because tomorrow is my ballbuster schedule and there wouldn't be anything worse than trying to do it hung over. So no drinking, just supreme, arm-gnawing hunger. Oh well, it will be fun anyway.

A bigger challenge will be next weekend when I have to face Maeve's birthday cake.
Well, I will HAVE to have a small slice. I will. Let's just hope I don't pull a knife and demand the whole thing for myself.
Speaking of eating until one is sick, my yearly trip to Arkansas is coming up too and we all know what that means.
Yes that's right. And plenty of.......

I was listening to someone talking on Saturday night about the diet she's been on where she's lost 16 pounds in a month. I did not rush to choke her. I did not do anything unseemly. See? Now a man would have sat back in his chair and belched loudly to show editorial comment. It was belch-worthy too, but I did not.

I just wrote a chicken sex scene in my new book. In the interests of full disclosure, it's people having the sex and a chicken making an appearance. Sheesh, details, details.

I've been mesmerized by Mad Men lately until last night. No more Miss Farrell. How blah.

Monday seems like a good day to blog, dear reader. I will probably be doing that for a while.
A bientot
love,
Becky

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