A confession.

Over the last couple of months, I’ve been dieting. I’m pretty pleased with the results so far. I’m down 35 pounds from my heaviest of 272.

Yes, I want to look good in my wedding pictures. I also would like to, you know, live longer and when I’m living the high life in my doomsday bunker, you’ll all be jealous. Or long since vaporized. Whichever.

There is one thing that could derail everything and it’s this:

YOU’RE THE DEVIL, CHOCOLATE COVERED PRETZELS!

Yup. It’s these little bastards. Dr. Fiance came home with a bag of these from a farmer’s market today (A FARMER’S MARKET.) and I’m pretty sure I’ve eaten half the bag. I’m certain that if you put a 35-pound pile of chocolate covered pretzels in front of me, I’m making it my life’s goal to eat that pile in under an hour or die trying.

Damn you, chocolate covered pretzels, being all delicious and wonderful.

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