When all you need is a slice of cake

CAKE is my answer to everything. Whether I’ve had a good day or a bad day, eating cake is what I do and what I love. But when I have a wedding dress to squeeze into in twelve days, eating cake is really not a good idea.

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Yesterday I was faced with a dilemma. I passed the diploma part of my master’s degree in writing, so needed to celebrate. Cake was calling. It was calling in a big way because I did surprisingly well. I was so proud of myself that I wanted to run down the road to the local cake shop and buy a great big double chocolate cake.

But I couldn’t.

Cake is off-limits.

I needed to think of another way to celebrate, a way that didn’t involve cake. Various options were suggested. A meal out? Would I be able to go to a restaurant and order salad? No. I wouldn’t.

The cinema? Would I be able to go to the pictures and not have minstrels to start before tucking into a large sweet popcorn? No. Not possible.

All day I tried to think of something that didn’t involve food. I was struggling, but then I had a lightbulb moment. Continue reading

Do NOT let me eat cake!

MY summer of cake eating has caught up with me. My jeans are starting to feel a little snug. My floaty dresses are significantly less floaty than they were at the start of the summer.

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I’m not one for getting weighed every five minutes, but this morning, I decided that enough was enough I needed to assess the damage. I had to face up to things. I thought I may have gained one or two pounds, possibly three, definitely not more than four. Five max.

I stepped onto the scales. Then quickly stepped off again.

Nine stone nine and a quarter. That’s what it said. Nine stone nine and a quarter. That couldn’t be right. I reset the scales and tried again.

Nine stone nine and a half. Still not right. I reset the scales and placed them on a different tile in the bathroom. I took a deep breath, stepped back on.

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I jumped off the scales, and threw them into the cupboard. Nine stone ten, almost 11. A gain of eight pounds. More than half a stone. I felt dizzy and a little sick. ‘Chris,’ I screamed.

Chris came running up the stairs. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m fat.’ I pointed into the cupboard where the scales lay upside down. ‘I’ve put on half a stone.’ Continue reading