The time: 5:30pm.
The place: My office breakroom.
The protagonist: Me, your faithful author, who has allowed herself the rest of December to be an inactive lump on a log before resuming exercise and some modicum of healthy eating.
Picture it with me:
I walk into the office breakroom to grab a can of seltzer water. There, sitting on the counter next to a delightful-looking bowl of fresh fruit salad left over from someone's meeting, is a nearly empty serving plate. On that plate are a few small mounds of a pillowy white substance. There appear to be flecks of something inside.
I stare at this plate for about thirty seconds trying to decide whether I am looking at vanilla icing (eat) or mashed potatoes (pass). Despite the fact that my visual assessment resulted in a 50-50 chance of mashed potatoes, I still try some. (It was cannoli filling.)
...Yeah. Maybe I should just go for a run already.
Ahhh, December with your food and your merriment! You are the reason for New Years' resolutions!
The place: My office breakroom.
The protagonist: Me, your faithful author, who has allowed herself the rest of December to be an inactive lump on a log before resuming exercise and some modicum of healthy eating.
Picture it with me:
I walk into the office breakroom to grab a can of seltzer water. There, sitting on the counter next to a delightful-looking bowl of fresh fruit salad left over from someone's meeting, is a nearly empty serving plate. On that plate are a few small mounds of a pillowy white substance. There appear to be flecks of something inside.
I stare at this plate for about thirty seconds trying to decide whether I am looking at vanilla icing (eat) or mashed potatoes (pass). Despite the fact that my visual assessment resulted in a 50-50 chance of mashed potatoes, I still try some. (It was cannoli filling.)
...Yeah. Maybe I should just go for a run already.
Ahhh, December with your food and your merriment! You are the reason for New Years' resolutions!
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