My periodically one-eyed mother, whom I refer to as the Cyclops, mentioned to me the other day a miracle new pill that if you get prescribed basically kills your appetite and before you know it, you're skinny like Bo Derek. Or like she was 40+ years ago. Or something like that.
To be fair to Bo Derek, she could still be skinny now, it's just demand to see the current version running along the beach in a bikini is not as high as it was back in 1980.
No, if I'm to be skinny like Bo Derek was (and maybe still is), then it's just hard slog. Unless I'm getting close to the end of the year and nothing's happening, in which case, pills it is.
By the way, there's been no weigh in update this week because I'm in the Swiss Alps and the hotel room happily doesn't come with scales.
The next few posts will thus be diet related musings on the last few days skiing with a 3 year old, blissfully unaware of the break's effect on my waistline.
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