Bring On Munch!

Man am I happy to see the back end of Fatuary. For those of you who just arrived, due to the food baby I made out of doughnuts, licorice candy and too much sitting around on my butt, I rechristened February Fatuary.

I’m relieved it’s over, not only because it means that I’m one step closer to getting rid of Jeremiah, my food baby, but also for the majority of Fatuary I was in a really bad mood.

No, that’s not an adequate description. For most of Fatuary when I wasn’t consuming junk food, I was on a tear, I was the kind of grumpy that people cross to the other side of the street to avoid, I was the antichrist.

And sometimes during Fatuary I spoke French and so I became the French antichrist. Then I’d revert to English and go back to being just the antichrist.

Also, I’d like to announce that I have a new favourite word- antichrist. I find it’s a versatile word, applicable to every situation. Have a pair of socks with those little threads that cut between your toes? Simply sum up your discomfort with a succinct “These socks are the antichrist”. Hate mayo on sandwiches? Express your true feelings with by stating “This sandwich is the antichrist.” As a descriptor its uses are endless.

But back to the original purpose of this post, goodbye Fatuary, with your grey, sunless days and long snowy nights, I’m elated to see you go. Bring on March*!

 

*Names of months may be changed due to the fact that I continue to sit on the couch and consume sugar, an event which Roscoe observed and commented on, saying “If you keep eating like this March will be known as Munch”. Thank you dear husband, I love you too.

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I’m Not Pregnant, I’m Just Fat

Not even days after posting Belly Button Watch 2013, someone asked me if I was pregnant. To which I had to answer, “No It’s Fatuary, I’m just heavier”.

What is Fatuary you might ask? Well once upon a time this month was known as February. But in recent years it’s come to my attention that this month has a lot of darkness, very little sunlight, an excess amount of cold and a plethora of snow.

All of this grey, bleak weather makes me want to sit on the couch. And eat bags of potato chips. Now the thing is, this is not my natural state. I’m a walker. I walk to the library, to the bus, to the grocery store, to the hair stylist. Anywhere possible I walk. But in Fatuary I sit. I sit until my seat spreads , until my skirts get tight and my belly looks round.  

And since no other month has this type of effect on me, I christened it Fatuary, a celebrated time for Canadians, where the only exercise we get is from shoveling the endless amounts of snow from our driveways and running quickly to and from the convenience store for more licorice and donuts.

So yes I am pregnant. With a food baby, I made him out of deep fried dough and licorice candies. I’m going to call him Jeremiah. I figure I’ll let him grow until April at which point I’ll want to be rid of him. Thus I’ll extract myself from my couch and start to run and walk and do all of the activities I love again and gradually Jeremiah will disappear, only to return next Fatuary.