Last night I decided to pay my own wee tribute to the late Patrick Swayze and Keith Floyd by enjoying Dirty Dancing with a few generous glasses of wine - all in all, a pretty perfect way to spend the last night of my hols.
Mr Slimma promptly disappeared upstairs. Can’t imagine why. It’s not as though I’d ever get so carried away at the last dance scene that I’d launch myself off the sofa and expect him to catch me. I’ve still got the bruises from last time...
Anyway, enough mucking about. It’s nice to be back at the blog and today I have at least two giant reasons to celebrate.
My first trip to the scales in 2 weeks reveals I haven’t gained any weight on my hols. Haven’t lost any either but considering what I’ve been troughing, that’s what I call a result!
Even better, I can now squeeze into some of my size 16s. I’d love to say there’s no VPL but close examination of my butt in the mirror says otherwise. Still, my size 18s now hang off me so much they make me look like Charlie Chaplin, so it looks like its tight troos and long tops for me until I get the VPL situation sorted. It’s a heinous crime, VPL. If Baby had had it, I bet she’d still be in that corner.
Or maybe she had magic knickers? Now there's an idea...
