The Skinny

How I know I'm On A Diet:


Vultures follow me.

Hubby goes from four nightly scoops of ice cream to three, out of courtesy.

Kid lunches are sent with bites in their sandwich.

I wear strawberry chapstick just so I can nibble on my lips for nourishment.

In and Out continues to unkindly ask if I want fries with my lettuce burger.

The children are looking tasty.

Cleaning the kitchen counter at night, I pop loose a dry sticky Fruity Pepple from the male-morning-breakfast-feasts, and put it in my mouth instead of the trash.

Bursts of speech to hide stomach growls, are mistaken for turrets.

Circulation has come back to my legs, when wearing jeans.

White flour is my friend, white flour is not my friend, white flour is my friend, white flour is not my friend . . . .

I have one honkin' smore camping, instead of five.

I squeeze through doorways with no lubrication.

My two least favorite words are "south" and "beach"

I pose for family photos instead of hiring stand-ins.

I pee a nutritious, fruit red and vegetable green.

People mistake me for someone who cares.

and finally

When the dog barks, I long to hunt with her in a pack.