If you read mystery novels like I do, this may sound familiar:
"I entered my apartment, quickly showered, threw on a pair of 501's and a tight fitting T-shirt. Not enough time to primp, so I washed my face and applied a touch of black mascara and a dab of lip gloss. Slipped into a pair of low-heeled sandals, and off I went."
I made the above paragraph up, but it is typical of what I read in most mystery novels. Janet Evanovich and Lisa Scottoline come to mind right now. The heroine is never standing with her hands on her hips in front of her closet full of clothes that don't fit, screaming, "What the hell am I going to wear today?" Or rummaging through her dresser drawers hunting for a bra and pair of panties that she doesn't have to squeeze into like sausage meat into its casing.
The ticker above shows you my weight loss so far. But what I really want is to lose inches so that I can go out in a slinky black dress or tight jeans and J won't be able to take her eyes off ME all night. From now on I am going to marvel at what I CAN fit into, not what I can't. So that is my new approach to weight loss.