I have nothing quilty to write about today. I can't even pretend that I do by offering up some new fabric or gadget I've purchased. I'm still binding the baby quilt, a task that has taken me longer than normal because I have been plagued by headaches for the past couple of weeks, and stitching is one of the activities that exacerbates it, along with sitting, standing, breathing, and thinking about food.
I have been meticulously accounting for every calorie that enters my body. I have not been exercising though, since I have had Harper home with me all week and she refuses to go to the child care at the gym and there is no one I can park her with for that hour. And the first person that gives me some sort of helpful advice about taking walks or doing jumping jacks while I fold laundry is hereby banned from this blog forever. I like the gym. I am happy there. I can park my Kindle and read while I sweat and no one asks me eight million questions about poopy underpants and I don't have to try to ignore the horrible dialogue coming from Nickelodeon shows.
David, on the other hand, has a gym where he works and, since he works for the government, the gym only costs like ten bucks a month and all he has to do is get up early enough to get there with enough time to work out and shower before his first meeting. When he first joined last year, he was pretty good about going for a while, but he would always come home and say things like, "I'm up to seven minutes!" Total. I don't think he ever got beyond 15. He seemed to think that once you started to flag you should stop. He also frequently wondered why he wasn't losing weight. He would wonder this as he polished off his second dinner. Seriously. The man would eat an entire pizza and then make a sandwich. I would of course very solemnly remind him that he would have to cut calories if he wanted to lose weight, and then I would refill my beer hat with Dr. Pepper.
Naturally, David is now pushing himself to do the full 30 minutes and is only eating one of each meal, and mostly vegetables. He has lost four pounds. I have lost one. This gives me a number of reasons to want to "accidentally" knee him in the nuts. Besides, he ought to let me win because it's his fault I'm fat. Before I met him, I had a personal menu of about three things, all beige, and I hardly ever ate those. Then he came along and his second favorite thing to do with me was to drag me to various exotic restaurants all over Annapolis and D.C. I finally found a guy who couldn't get enough of me and if he wanted me to stuff myself with rogan josh and pad thai before we knocked boots all night, I figured that was the least I could do.
See? It's all his fault.
But that's okay. If he wins—and it's pretty clear he will, at least this first round—I will happily give him his prize, because even if he did make me fat, he's wonderful and I adore him.
Tune in again tomorrow, because I just got a package (so to speak) from a reader and it is so awesome that I have to give it its own post with pictures. But FYI, it will be NSFW.