I don’t like Krispy Kremes. Well, I’ll tell you why. They use too much sugar. I don’t like how they glaze the entire doughnut. I prefer doughnuts glazed only on one side, otherwise, it’s overkill. Krispy Kreme is so red light district. It’s like Versace perfume. It’s just a cheap whore trying to get your attention. There’s no subtlety to it.
On that note, I’m joining Weight Watchers, officially, today. 143 lbs. I just weighed myself, naked, without my watch or a hair elastic. I’m 5′ 5". I should weigh 125. I felt my best at 123, actually, but save it if you’re going to go off on numbers. I am not a Nazi about them. I am a psycho, though, when it comes to the plain, hard-boiled fact, that my fat jeans are now way too tight.
I tried joining yesterday in earnest. I looked at google maps, was certain I knew where I was going. No. I got lost and ended up at the wrong Target shopping center. The meeting began at 12:15. By the time I arrived at the correct location, it was 1:32. Now what? There was another meeting at the same spot at 5:30, but what would I do until then? I’d go to Starbucks and write, use my t-mobile account. I’d get things done.
Starbucks was actually closed for renovations. Closed! I’ve never heard of such a thing. The only way I was able to find it in the first place was with the help of my un-trusty GPS system. The Suitor recently changed the voice, so now it says, "recalculating" in a British accent. "I’m turning left in a spot, love," I repeat aloud to the GPS Brit lady. My car now sounds like a snob, which I kind of like. What I didn’t like was how my day was going. Screw it.
I fiddled with my trusty GPS and punched in a new destination. In lieu of Weight Watchers, I hit up a place that my new friend Wendy introduced me to that bakes, fresh, the best damn snickerdoodle I’ve ever had. Tiffany’s Treats. Subtle. Not Tiff’s Trix. I had to wait 30 minutes while they baked us a fresh dozen. Yes, us. I was bringing them home for The Suitor. He’d mentioned earlier in the day how he was jonesing for a chocolate chip cookie. So I’d bring home more than one. We could freeze the rest, I was certain. Yuh, like that ever happens. Having to wait a half hour for the cookies meant I knew what I was doing. This wasn’t some impulsive eating. It was absolutely pre-meditated. The problem is, while I was waiting, I actually thought about driving through McDonalds. Just a small cheeseburger, I thought. No fries or anything. No. Bad girl. Instead I sat in my car and wrote about fat camp for book 2. Then on the half hour, I collected a warm white bakery box tied with a yellow ribbon. Screw it.
I untied the ribbon, ate a few cookies before I arrived home, then repacked the box as if I’d never been there. Zipped my fly, tucked in my shirt. Stephanie hasn’t been here. The Suitor’s eyes lit up when he saw I was carrying the box.
"I’ve got a treat, honey belle."
"Oh, it’s for Linus?"
"No, baby, it’s for you."
"Did you have any?"
"Uh, yeah. Royal taster, here."
"And you re-did the bow?"
"Anything for you."
It was subtle, not very red light. And the night was delicious. So now, I’m signing up for Weight Watchers online to be my anti-pimp.
