I am wheat's and sugar's bitch.
My definition of difficult: trying to stick to a stone-age style diet during the month where every other family member has a birthday, and both the mother and I enjoy baking cakes. Although I feel like something of a drug dealer nowadays when I make stuff with flour and then proceed to only eat the smallest slice.
I may have had a couple of "bad primal" days. Saturday, for sure, was a total and utter write-off. I knew it was getting bad when Muriel asked me why I was tucking into the pasta salad.
Eldest son's birthday tomorrow, and the house is filled with the smell of cake again. I may have licked the bowl clean. And the spoon. And perhaps nibbled on some of the bits of cake that had to be cut-away to make the shape right. You know: waste not, want not. I am a Scot, after all.
Well, I suppose that's what intermittent fasting is for, heh.
I may have had a couple of "bad primal" days. Saturday, for sure, was a total and utter write-off. I knew it was getting bad when Muriel asked me why I was tucking into the pasta salad.
Eldest son's birthday tomorrow, and the house is filled with the smell of cake again. I may have licked the bowl clean. And the spoon. And perhaps nibbled on some of the bits of cake that had to be cut-away to make the shape right. You know: waste not, want not. I am a Scot, after all.
Well, I suppose that's what intermittent fasting is for, heh.