I stepped on the scale today. And like the jackass hot chick trying to run from the chain-saw wielding killer in the campy horror flicks in high heels, I made one crucial mistake.
It might have been the plateau I recently found myself visiting. Or perhaps it was the week of looking at the clock at the end of the day wondering how I only managed to find the time to get my yoga pants on but not actually work out. Then again, it could have been the complete and total attitude readjustment I just realized I need to take care of. I mean, I went from Yay I Lost The Baby Weight to Sure Let's Make Another Baby in the space of like, four blog posts. And don't tell me that isn't enough to make you all, Well, If I am gonna get fat again, anyway....
Hey, I'm only human.
And, it seems, the first idiot female to get slaughtered by the guy with the chain saw. She wears high heels while running for her life. Bad idea.
I got on the scale. And when I looked down, I decided running shoes are, like, totally so much more practical.