Around lunch time I head on over to one of my favorite places of consumer excess, Tar-jay. A la the female stereotype, I am powerless to resist the lure of that giant red bull’s eye. The knowledge that I will later suffer from a purchase hangover is rarely strong enough to overcome the lure of the acquisition high. Any excuse will suffice for the chance to peruse rack after rack of shoddily-made , yet stylish clearance clothes (Sorry Target, you know I still love you.) And since I’m usually at least a season or two behind the latest trend anyways, I don’t mind sacrificing cutting-edge style for economy. Today, my “reason” (like I need one) for entering these hallowed halls of low to moderate priced merchandise is to procure a scale. I “need” a scale in order to document any weight changes that may occur over the course of my 30/30.
After deducting these latest procurements from my $30, I now have $0.35, and only 25 days left to go.
As I leave the store with the plan of waiting until after lunch to break open the booty, I realize my inner fat person has gone ahead without my permission and eaten approximately 15 marshmallows before I’ve even pulled out of the parking deck. Ten or so marshmallows later, I’ve made it home, where I enjoy a lunch of Falafel Taco, even more marshmallows, and a small piece of “chocolate.” Never to be confused with Chocolate, “chocolate flavored” anything is the ugly step-cousin of Chocolate. In most cases, I would reject “chocolate” as one might reject dog-poop or arsenic, but when times are tough we must all suffer, my sweet tooth included.
More lentils and spinach for dinner, followed by six marshmallows.