Week seventeen: drinking not thinking

I'm afraid to hop on the scales. I've been avoiding it. Liquid calories have been poured down my throat by some malevolent force beyond my power. I've been in the throes of the burgundy Wine Goddess and, I'm here to report she is one e-vil dame. And fat.

We bid on a high end dinning experience to support a local charity some months ago and, lo, we won! A five course meal with paired wines, in a very upscale restaurant. Hummmm, five courses, five glasses minimum! But if only it were five....Needless to say after all the courses were consumed all six people  poured our liquid selves into a shrunken taxi cab and continued the drink-fest as the notorious Commercial hotel where I --thankfully -- was mindful enough to start downing the club soda with lime. The damage, however, has been done and today, in the sober light of Monday morning, I am afraid to step on to the scales... How could I undo what I have worked so hard to do??
This Wednesday is weigh-in at WW so I'll just skip the scales until then, modify my intake and keep up the exercise. I'm off to yoga now, to purify and cleanse this somewhat poisoned temple. Oh dear, if only a glass of wine were a single glass. It's when it's two or three that the sensible me slides inside the oaky Chardonnay, slips into the sensuous Shiraz, toasts the berry and leather and blah blah blah notes of a seriously delicious Cab. Sav....and I become one serious party girl, calories be damned.  Maybe AA rather than WW might be a better support group. Nah, I'll just try thinking more, rather than drinking more and, I promise, even if the scale are tipped upwards, I'll report back. Just not quite yet.......

Margaret