Only two days to go until I am at Dirty Dancing. In fact, this time in two days, I will be at Dirty Dancing, and I am EXCITED. But I know you're not here to hear about how excited I am about Dirty Dancing, are you. You're here to hear about the detox.
Yesterday I indulged myself by consuming my own body weight in fruit and cranberry juice. But I tell you, this detox business is hungry work. Which lead me to the supermarket last night. In fact, possibly the worlds largest supermarket, in Wimbledon. Three hours later I trudged out with my own body weight in, you guessed it, fruit. And veg. And some unusual pulses that aren't spelt how they sound.
I can't pretend that I am seeing any positive effects from this detox. My fat levels have reached an all time high. It has gotten so bad that I am sure when I am sitting down my own bum makes a big enough ledge behind me that I could balance several glasses of cranberry juice there, if it weren't for the fact that every movement reverberates into a thousand wobbles.
The good news however, is that I am going to restart with my booty shaking classes - but this time, different city, different teacher - hopefully one who's slightly less moody about those who cannot keep up the pace (i.e. me).
What's more, my sister is coming with me - the older one - I'm still working on the younger one - she's not buying it so far.
I had to have words with older sister the other day though, as I emailed her about booty shaking class and she agreed that yes, she would come to "botty shaking" class this Sunday. I informed her that she had used entirely the wrong terminology - as the former clearly means we're hot stuff, while the latter just implies we have fat arses. I instructed her that no matter what the truth might be, it is important to maintain the latter at all costs.
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