It’s time to start your special festive diet. Here are the rules, written by my inner voice…
From 25 November:
“It’s socially *expected* to accept any festive treats offered at work / a friend’s / on supermarket displays.”
“It’s socially *expected* to accept any festive treats offered at work / a friend’s / on supermarket displays.”
Christmas nights out:
“It’s actually rude to diet at a party and I’ll probably dance off 2000 calories anyway.”
“It’s actually rude to diet at a party and I’ll probably dance off 2000 calories anyway.”
24 December:
“Sod it. We’re officially celebrating now.”
“Sod it. We’re officially celebrating now.”
25 December:
“I’m going to explode…. ooooh cheese!”
“I’m going to explode…. ooooh cheese!”
26 December:
“My family will be offended if I don’t eat a bit of everything they offer / on this buffet table.”
“My family will be offended if I don’t eat a bit of everything they offer / on this buffet table.”
27 December:
“I can’t be arsed cooking, let’s get a take away.”
“I can’t be arsed cooking, let’s get a take away.”
28 December:
“I look like Jabba. Just salad from now on. Oh, but these mince pies go out of date tomorrow. We can’t just throw food away.”
“I look like Jabba. Just salad from now on. Oh, but these mince pies go out of date tomorrow. We can’t just throw food away.”
29/30 December:
“Fuck it. I’ll start a diet in the new year.”
“Fuck it. I’ll start a diet in the new year.”
31 December:
“Final binge. Let’s go out in style!”
“Final binge. Let’s go out in style!”
1 January:
“I feel so rough… Only a bacon sandwich / McDonalds will cure me.”
“I feel so rough… Only a bacon sandwich / McDonalds will cure me.”
Dry January:
“Well if I’m not drinking, I’m eating cake.”
Unbalanced Woman 