With the exception of my mother's birthday, I'm pretty sure that March is the stupidest month ever.
If you add in the train wreck mustache my man is sporting on his face (I can't decide if I want to slap him or take him back to the bedroom) what it boils down to is the simple fact that nothing good comes out of March.
Please don't try to sell me on anything with the word tournament in it or I will poison your computer with a Miley Cyrus Virus. Not that I don't love a good healthy dose of basketball, but it's considered madness for a reason.
But the very worst thing about March is that even without the excuse of holiday chocolate, it always makes me fatter. And yeah, I said the F-word (the three letter one) because trying to shove myself into my jeans this morning literally made me want to curse.
I am an island of reckless abandonment adrift in a sea of schnitzel and peanut butter chips. Honestly, before moving to Germany I was the world's best eater-outer ever -- soup and salad with a big ice water.
Now? You only live once and I'm having a secret love affair with all the dead pigs over here in Deutchland. Give me schnitzel with a side order of chubby jeans and I'm a happy Frau.
But the insanity has to end. I can't keep my three pair of leggings laundered fast enough, I've got to get back into my wardrobe.
Quite frankly, I'm too cheap to go out and try to replace it. The exchange rate alone is forcing me to handle my problems in a more financially responsible manner. I'm cheap and oh-so-vain.
The other thing that's come up to bite me in the surprisingly rounded tush is the recent invention of Dr. Pepper 10. Who knew 10 calories could taste so good? It came on sale at the Commissary for 99 cents a case and Jason came home with 15 cases so we could "try it out."
Enter serious caffeine addiction.
When you pair all these things together what you get is a really grumpy, sugar-amped, puffy faced mother who's got a Costco-sized muffin top and is two weeks away from having to wear a bathing suit at the beach.
Today it ended. All of it.
Off sugar, off pop in general, hello whole foods. I have successfully restocked my refrigerator with oodles of smart calorie options that I actually like, downed 65 ounces of water today, and tossed three bags of partially opened chocolate/peanut butter/butterscotch chips.
It's time to embrace the skinny girl lifestyle again and stop eating like a Clydesdale. Think Arabian; they have super high metabolisms.
I mostly vow, right here and now, to spend the next 15 years following a happy, heart-healthy eating style that does not include large daily doses of peanut butter M&M's (unless I'm at the movies or on vacation), liters of brown pop (except when I'm eating out or having a really bad day), or mass quantities of uncooked cookie dough (not valid on Sunday afternoons).
These extra pounds -- the number of which I shall not disclose at this time -- are dead meat, baby. They're going to melt off my skinny little butt like butter.
Now if I can somehow avoid the two plates of chocolate cookies Mr. Not-So-Wonderful baked tonight while I was out running errands. Did I mention they're loaded with peanut butter chips? Super rude.
Annie Valentine is a wife, mother and columnist. Readers can contact her at email@example.com or visit her blog at regardingannie.wordpress.com.