Well I attended my weekly fat fighters meeting last night for my “official” weigh in. According to the scales I had put on half a pound. Well I demanded a steward’s enquiry. The scale teetered about for ages before it finally decided that I had gained half a pound. Which tells me it was probably only a couple of ounces? Pah!

Consultant, looked at my record card and said “Mmm your weight has been stuck here for a couple of weeks hasn’t it. Perhaps you’ve reached a plateau” Well I misheard her and thought she said Platter, I wondered if she had me under surveillance when I was communing with that plate of sausage rolls. “Tell you what” she said brightly, “Would you like a challenge?” What? For a moment I thought she was going to make me eat three cream crackers while balancing a glass of water on my head. But no. She whipped a leaflet out from her vast basket of stuff and thrust it into my sticky palms. “Try this” She encouraged; it might just give you a kick start.

Apparently it is the Fat fighter’s equivalent of “drastic measures”. So I flicked through the booklet, it didn’t take long. I can’t remember the title of this particular programme; something like “Die of malnutrition the painful way” There was a picture of a skeleton on the front.

The regime was as follows

Breakfast. Clean your teeth; you may swallow half of the toothpaste.

Lunch. 2 prawns and a segment of grapefruit

Dinner Stand outside Kentucky Fried Chicken and inhale deeply.

Snack Half a peanut and a glass of water.

Well tempted though I was, I deduced that there was more nutritional value to the leaflet so I ate that, then felt guilty and asked for another.

I took it home and showed Hubby. He glanced through it and said “What is wrong with these people?” “Here, have a bun.”

You see, I have already lost two stone, and I don’t look too bad now. (If you close one eye and drink a lot of alcohol) Hubby’s eye’s light up when I come into the room. Mind you that might be more to do with the LED bulbs I had fitted to his glasses. And he has started shopping in La Sensa and Ann Summers for skimpy undies. They don’t really suit him, but the look of confused pain that crosses his face when he pulls up that thong is priceless and only the thin end of the wedge if you ask me.

So I have decided to give fat fighters another month and see what happens. If I stay the same so what? It’s obviously God’s way of telling me that my ass is the right size. Besides which, we’ll probably all have disappeared into a black hole by then. So I might just as well stuff my face. Pass the biscuits……………………..