Disaster. My app then informed me that if I go on eating like that I was going to put on two full pounds! This can't happen. I cannot get out of control again. I require a strict Lexie leash.
Cut (not literally, I'm not that upset), to Thursday and we're having lunch with Mum at home. My unemployment is clearly catching. We finish our noodles, beans and cheese and I ask Ro to fetch me an egg. She smugly isn't having one. I rebelliously crack one open with my teeth but the smile fades when the two halves fly under my tongue from the impact of my force. I choke a bit and they fall out down my white crochet style top.
Hmm. That was I think what they call a Jennifer Anniston pudding. Just a taste was quite nice. I put the two halves spittily on the table and announce that i'm finished. I don't feel like having anymore.
There is quite a furor about this. Mum and Ro are such feeders. Or maybe they're just totally shocked at my app-orexic behaviour. As they recount how the chocolate egg must be feeling at such rejection and termination of its life's journey I sulkily throw the two halves down in my beany cheesy lunch bowl. No, why should I finish my Lindt chocolate egg if I don't want to? I'm being assertive.
Unforch I obs haven't finished my assertiveness training, or maybe just how weird I am being soaks in finally, but after they've finished telling me how excited the egg was being made in the factory at the thought of being eaten by me, I grumpily chew back up one spitty beany half. Fine!
To make the egg feel better, when they clearly don't care about my feelings, Mum and Ro share the last half.
I think readers may feel as traumatised as the poor Lindt egg after finishing this story. Soz.
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