Physical Fatness

I received a most excellent phone call yesterday from my Mad Vagabond. He's coming home earlier than he anticipated, and before our anniversary!  


When I'm not working, I spend a lot of time daydreaming about when he comes home. Ok, I daydream about it even when I am working. 


That might explain a lot.

Deadlines are such pesky little things. I'll tend to them later.

Not only is he coming home early, I am heading back to California with him. YES! For as long as I want!  Double yes!! Back on the road again. Gypsy life agrees with me.


After hanging up the phone, I had a terrible realization. You see, I have been carrying on a sordid affair with chocolate since Mr. Vagabond left at the beginning of January. 

Just one taste.  Maybe two.

So while on the inside I've been feeling like this...

Hot-Cha-Cha!

the reality is something else altogether. 


What to do, what to do. 


At first, I thought what any reasonable person whose nightstand is covered with Twix wrappers might think. I need to go on a diet, and I will start exercising. 


Ok, maybe tomorrow. 


I have the best ideas when I falling asleep. Unfortunately, the cold light of morning exposes a harsh reality. Would I really exercise?

This looks fun!

Um, fun?

Maybe a spa!

Just like jail, but with more activity and worse food.

I'd exhausted all my ideas for physical activity, but I wasn't licked quite yet.

I thought about buying a super hot corset. Mr. Vagabond would LOVE that. 

Look at that tiny waist (And pay no attention to the squooshies coming out the top and bottom).

What the...

How does this thing WORK?

Fine. The corset is a no-go. Even if I could find a way to get the thing on, Mr. Vagabond is not known for his patience. 

I'm running out of ideas, here.

I have two weeks to shed the plumpage I've gained since January 4, and I need some inspiration.

Right after I finish this cherry danish.