The Biggest Loser.

I've gone and gotten myself involved in a weight-loss competition.  It's not that I'm "fat," but ever since the honeymoon, I've been a little "softer" than I'd like to be.  As we sat at a bar in Tuscany and I polished off my fourth slice of pizza and sixth glass of wine and complained that my body would be shit by the time we got back to New York, my sweet husband cheered me on claiming "it's not like you've got to squeeze into a wedding dress anymore!"  (Meanwhile, on this trip he managed to lose 4 lbs.... WHO does that?  Someone with the most incredible metabolism I've ever seen, that's who.  His excuse was: "too much activity.")  But last week, after backing Mr. DD into a corner and forcing him to fess up he did indeed admit that he's noticed this weight gain, mostly around the "stomach and ass."  Yikes.

The most dangerous thing about said competition is that one of my competitors is my mother-in-law.  I had to be presumptious, but I'm pretty sure I've got this one in the bag.   Isn't it dangerous to beat your mother-in-law this early into a marriage?  Let's just say she didn't beg me to reconsider entering the contest or insist that if I lost one more pound I'd disappear... which she did say to another wanna-be competitor.  Anyway- I ate to my heart's content this weekend and narrowed down the pairs of jeans that I can comfortably wear from 12 to 2.  I weighed in on Monday and by Tuesday morning I was down a pound and a half!  Maybe it's "water weight," but whatever you call it, I'm gonna win this thing!