The f-word

Everybody on Facebook is complaining, boasting, scared at the copious amounts of food they have consumed over these last two days. I'm usually one of them, just not this time. I did try. But I failed. And I guess nobody would like to hear the details. Let's just say that by the time I was home after the damn Christmas Eve breakfast, the whole breakfast had been thrown up. Enough said. Not a pretty sight. And it went on from there. I just didn't have the appetite for any of it. Which is extremely rare in my historical biography. Usually I just can't sit down properly anymore because I'm scared the buttons on my pants are about to pop, blind someone, and sent to forensics for proper examination. But not this time. And I am not a girl who pecks at her food. Unfortunately I think food is one of the best inventions ever made by mankind, and it's difficult to resist. But again, not this time. As for why, it seems my stomach too is into some recession. I can only eat some but not a lot or I am risking a repeat performance of early Christmas Day, which wasn't pretty, and which I am in no hurry to repeat. Which in itself is not a bad thing, it's not as if I am going to die from hunger anytime soon. It'll take quite a lot for enzymes to break up the f-word. I probably could go right through the Third World War hungry and still survive, because the f-word will protect me. Seriously. It is quite tragic the way a chocolate bar finds itself immediately on my hips, when the same chocolate bar is flushed out in minutes by my dear old twin. Twin? Yeah right. But then my dear old twin goes to the gym and exercises his abs, biceps and what not. Oh dear, we're quite a screwed up pair of twins.

So in honour of me having eaten as little as a sparrow, I'm off to McDonalds. I know, it's junk, but they make a mean chicken salad. So hoping I'll keep that down. And woe betide anybody who dares so much as think of the f-word. If you're thinking of it, look the other way....