Confession time. I never wear a belt. You see, I just don't quite understand the purpose. Unless you're a kid wearing your older siblings hand-me-downs, or you have a mom who likes to buy things "you'll grow into", well, I don't see the reason. Especially, when, like me, you're well past the "growth spurt"! Your clothes should fit. Am I right here?
Okay, that said, I giggled today as my pants slid down my butt. Serious butt-crack action, if you cared to look. Which means, yeah, the diet is working, slowly but surely. The way it's supposed to work.
Now before I go overboard, and you start picturing a tranny version of Twiggy, let me make something clear -- it's not all of my pants. Some still fit very well, thank you very much. So the success is definitely there, but it's not as far along as it may seem, so I can't get too too excited. But in the past, I didn't need a belt with these pants.
So despite caution, I'm grinning like an idiot today.
Per my own rules I haven't gotten on a scale, I haven't counted a single calorie, I haven't been "good" when it was time to eat my one real meal of the day, and I've snacked on things I shouldn't have, yet kept it to a minimum. It's the way it works for me.
If I keep it up, by the end of the month I will have to wear a belt. Or suffer the consequences.