“You are so skinny, I can almost see right through you.”
Happy words from a happy husband-to-be about my happy new figure. I still can’t get over it! I am so ecstatic that I am this close to writing my very own slimming pills review. Lucky for you, this girl is ridiculously sleepy, so I won’t be subjecting you, my esteemed readership, to such torture. Not tonight, anyway.
I will, however, say this: I suspect Pearl White also causes paranoia. I am deathly afraid of gaining weight again. In fact, I am constantly peering somewhat skeptically at my considerably deflated belly, wondering if I have somehow gained another inch or two for no reason other than breathing. I ate sinaguelas (with loads of salt, of course) a couple of days ago and felt so bloated after that I’ve sworn off the fruit – and salt – until further notice. I’m even taking more toilet breaks now because I drink so much water, and I’m deathly afraid of turning into a water balloon. Oh, and if I’m somehow unable to go, I go up and down the stairs at top speed, determined to burn off whatever I can.
Not only that, I am constantly finding ways to look in the mirror just to reassure myself that I haven’t gained 15 pounds in the last 10 minutes or so since I was there scrutinizing myself. And if that doesn’t work, I would either measure my waistline yet again, or – don’t laugh! – try on my new pair of skinny jeans to see if it still fits, or my old white shorts to see if it still doesn’t. How weird is that?
Strangely enough, I seem to be the only one exhibiting this rather unsettling behavior. What does that tell you? Wait, don’t say it because I already know. Can anyone say: loony?
