I had a checkup a couple weeks ago. As it turns out, all those orange circus peanuts, potato chips, and peanut M&Ms I've been eating at my desk are not as low fat as I had assumed. That--right there--is why I don't cotton to going to the doctor.
The fact that I've been wearing my slacks unbuttoned should have given me fair warning. There's just nothing quite like stepping up on the scale, however, and watching the nurse slide the balance even further to the right to bring home the significance of all your bad habits.
But none of this hurts as bad as discovering yesterday that Venti Mochas--my whole incentive to get out of the house and on the road to work every morning--contain 508 calories and 27 fat grams. I mean, really! I had no idea that that a little chocolate syrup, whole milk, and whipped cream could wreak such havoc.
I'm heartbroken.
But none of this hurts as bad as discovering yesterday that Venti Mochas--my whole incentive to get out of the house and on the road to work every morning--contain 508 calories and 27 fat grams. I mean, really! I had no idea that that a little chocolate syrup, whole milk, and whipped cream could wreak such havoc.
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