Why does it have to taste so good? Why do we have to eat it at all?
This is the Mrs. Winner’s leftovers guilt talking. We have a lot going on around the house (we are putting it back on the market next week) and so Todd brought home a bucket of chicken for dinner last night. We don’t do this often (like, ever). There were leftovers. Mrs. Winner’s is not on Weight Watchers. I think that if you look up Mrs. Winner’s in the Dining Out companion that WW gives you, instead of points values for the chicken, it just says, “Give up now.”
I woke up this morning. I was really good. Coffee, with Splenda and fat free creamer. Breakfast bar to go as I walked out the door to take Rollie to school. Came home, went to pour one last half-cup of coffee, and stumbled across. . . I can only describe them as two buttery biscuits of love. That reminded me of the chicken leftovers in the fridge. Suddenly, I was putting a chicken wing and two biscuits on a plate and popping them into the microwave. At 10:00 a.m.
I quit smoking. I could quit drinking if I wanted. Food? I have a problem.