More, I have to admit, to expose that it was totally hot and sticky and I spent most of the time moaning and saying ‘oh Go, oh God’ and I’ll probably do it again.
Since going on this damn diet, I have successfully dropped some serious tonnage. My pants are starting to hang off my back end by accident and not design. My old shirts are starting to actually fit me. Even my shoes feel different.
And for the most part, I haven’t had the horrible cravings you would think I’d have by giving up dirty martinis and Manchego. I’ve been just fine. Until yesterday. Yesterday she arrived, waltzed in to our house steamy and hot, and said ‘come on, baby, I’m all yours’.
And I caved. I did. I only had a little, just a piece, but it still counts. My poor Attorney was at work, slaving away, and there I was at home, my hands full of the voluptuous, delicious, totally hot Cheese Pizza.
I had a corner, a tragic baked-out postage-stamp-sized sliver with just a spoonful of hot melted cheese and a wad of Italian sausage slumped under it but it was delicious. Made Jenny Craig taste like wheat paste, I swear.
I just … I had to say something. I wanted there to be full disclosure, just like Spitzer and Blindguy, because I am a man of honor.
Except when faced with cheese pizza.