Day 11

What I think I look like
while kickboxing...

Last night I finally broke my ten-day unblemished 'no-takeaway' streak. Pretty much, it was a choice between missing out on a trip to the gym for kickboxing class, or feeding my kids a large BBQ meat-lovers from Eagle Boys to keep them going until we got home. What to do - when it comes down to one List item versus another?

What I actually look like.

Got some funny looks walking into the gym with a big cardboard pizza box under my arm (and I swear the smell of bacon permeated that place almost instantly, causing the singlet-wearing dudes using the weights to sniff the air accusingly and reach for their protein shakes). I'm pretty sure Tony (tough gym instructor guy) could smell the pizza on my breath, too, because he worked us all out with about of the quarter of the sympathy he usually shows, and that isn't very much to start with. Felt my little food baby bouncing around quite resentfully during our warm-up jump-rope. Even started to believe that two slices of pizza had somehow punishingly added half a kilo to my backside, because it seemed to feel even more wobbly than usual while I skipped. Turns out I had forgotten to take out my iPhone out of the waist band of my leggings, and it had slipped south. Both relieved, and slightly embarrassed about this.

However - one pizza in ten days is still a vast improvement on matters, so I'm not beating myself up about it.

Discovered that I have jeopardised myself and my friendships terribly by revealing my crimes against sponsor children - apparently my slack letter-writing puts me on a level of heinousness equivalent to People Who Think Puppy Torture Is A Fine Art, and People Who Urinate In Public Elevators. In my defence, let me say that I do occasionally write letters, they are good ones with photos and stickers and everything, and I always pay the extra bucks for a Christmas and birthday gift. Perhaps these small concessions will raise me in the public esteem to the level of such creeps as People Who Try To Return Used Underwear To The Store, and Trolley Boys Who Leer At Breastfeeding Mothers. I can now pronounce (I think correctly) my newest sponsor child's name, which surely counts for something.

As for that Mystery List Item: I'm sad to say, it has nothing to do with secret pole-dancing lessons. Sorry to disappoint. :) M xx