Work has been incredibly busy and stressful these past 2 weeks, so bad in fact, that on Thursday I actually had to text my future husband and warn him to be nice to me when I got home, because I wasn't altogether sure whether I'd make it home without bursting into tears or lamping a random pedestrian for the heinous crime of walking too slowly. I hate it when someone blocks the pavement and walks slowly anyway, so God only knows what I would have done had someone got in my way. Thankfully I made it home without incident, received a big hug from future husband and then ate my bodyweight in chocolate.
Which brings me to the point of this. Eating. I've done far too much of it over the past week and have been trying to be good this week. Not easy when one of my colleagues turned 30 over the weekend and decided to buy the whole bakery counter of Tescos for the team. I'm not even joking. There were mini doughnuts, cookies, flapjacks, cornflake cakes, galaxy chocolate cakes, rolos and several other yummy things. He helpfully placed these on the empty desk facing mine. Do you know how hard it is to resist that table of yumminess when all you've eaten is 2 bowls of porridge and everyone else is gleefully tucking in and making "Mmmmm" noises. It's almost impossible. I've managed to be good so far, despite the fact that I am absolutely starving. I get the feeling though, that even if I ate all the crisps and chocolate and bowls of chips, or pasta in all the world, I'd still be hungry. It's just that kind of week.
I need to keep on this though. If I lose a pound a week, until my first dress fitting, that'll be 10lbs down, which might just make me look less like a walrus in a wedding dress. Sadly though, some of the exercise has backfired on me and instead of making my arms all sexy and muscular a la Michelle Obama, I've managed to majorly bulk them up. Seriously, I look like an anaemic, less beardy version of this guy. It's not a good look on me. And don't even get me started on what's happening to my bosoms!!
In other amusing news, I decided to attempt to give my pasty skin some colour. It was a stupid thing to do, as these things never work on me, but I never learn. I purchased one of those moisturisers with a gradual tanner in and started applying it. Two days, and one bright orange streaked leg later, future husband came downstairs, gave me a hug, and accused me of eating all the doritos. I denied it because I hadn't. Not that day anyway. He said I smell like doritos. I called him a mental. Then I worked it out. It's the self-tan. So now he calls me nacho. Thankfully he hasn't noticed the zebra leg. I hate to think what he'd call me...
Days til the wedding: 103
Level of madness: Low. I'm too hungry to care.
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