I, like every self-respecting woman after 35, periodically lose weight. How periodically - every Monday. Well, of course, on Sunday, you sigh like this... I'm going to eat a cake, drink tea, and tomorrow it's all over... no more. Well, since tomorrow I stand on the righteous path of losing weight, then another bar quickly zamashchikayu (for some reason I think if you quickly eat something that is not visible to anyone, then you will not get better) Bar was delicious, but so sweet and sugary so that it was necessary to neutralize something urgent. I looked at my watch - twenty-nine! So, as they say nutritionists, you can eat dinner at least three hours before bedtime. Well, I certainly would not sleep until eleven. So I opened the fridge with determination. Geez, I'm gonna lose weight. Why did I make meatballs this morning? Well, I counted the cutlets - exactly 10. Well, I'll have two now - it's not 9pm yet. Maybe I'll give two to the cat... Although, the diet is protein, and cutlets - what is that? It's meat, meat is protein! It'll do. While I was trying to calculate the caloric content of one cutlet - I thought about it. Woke up, look, as that not enough patties - recalculated - 6. So as hostile forces in the form of a cat nearby was not found, the suspicion hopelessly fell on his beloved. The confirmation was not long in coming in the form of heaviness and heartburn. I sat down and felt sad. Thousands of calories gathered in the contact zone with the stool and agitated my conscience.
A helpless pig, it suddenly came out of my subconscious. The evening was finally ruined. Dreams of lightness drifted away. Gloom, black as a burnt cutlet, stared at me through the wall of the refrigerator. Crossed out for good steep evening storis, "Girls, let's start a 20-day post-New Year's marathon - get into my jeans class 11! Rushing away - seemed like genius selfies angles! Everything collapsed in an instant. I couldn't bear to feel sorry for myself.
How miserable I am after all ... Providence scribbled in glowing red letters on the ceiling, and I felt unbearably sorry for myself - along with the resulting bald patches and shifting ass. The resentment at the time that didn't spare my beauty was spreading like a fire that only a glass of semi-sweet could put out. Maybe a couple. On the third glass - perelistav all the photos on the computer - was finally upset! At a time when I was young and beautiful, I have not had a computer. A sense of antiquity crept up my throat. My imagination mercilessly put me on a par with the late Gurchenko. My brain, which had been drunk, remembered only the movie Carnival Night. All 17 casts of Via Gry came to my mind sharply. Crap. How old I am. The realization that you not only know what odnoklassniki, but also was registered in them - dealt a crushing blow to the remnants of self-esteem. Along with the bottom of the third glass - the screensaver of Bridget Jones appeared on the laptop screen.
The final credits brought me back to reality - my hand desperately raked the remains of ice cream from the pink plastic with a spoon.
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