I folded. Crushed, folded, succumbed, stumbled, sinned (greatly sinned), whatever you want to call it, I folded. Bacon Cheese Fries became my close companion yet again this week. It was sick. The carnage was unbelievable. I even tried praying that the calories wouldn't count. It seems like if I were God (and I'm glad I'm not) and some chick was praying to me that the calories in BCFs wouldn't count, I'd laugh and make them count double. He's God, he can do what he wants.
Maybe I should try making out an Ode to My Found Pounds, and they'll do the opposite and go away.
What, no? It doesn't work that way? I guess not - if I'm going to keep eating Bacon Cheese Fries. I really have to get serious and stay serious. It's a good thing I threw away all of my bigger jeans.
PS - Happy Easter
Busting at the Seems