In critical* condition

This was supposed to be the summer I got hot. I'm not referring to temperature. I'm talking about the svelte, slim-hipped model type I'm convinced is trapped inside of me, currently sulking and bringing home report cards that say "not working up to her potential," but just aching to break free and prance around in size-4 pants. This summer (the one that's almost over) seemed like the perfect time to let her out, given my employment status and copious free time.

Unfortunately, the situation seems to have taken a turn in the opposite direction. My gym attendance has been sporadic at best, and despite optimistically signing up for a month of Bikram Yoga, CameraMan and I only went to 3 classes before deciding it was too cruel and unusual for us.

And then there was the eating. Some of it was trash: the occasional Vienna Inn debauchery and the all too frequent Chick-Fil-A lunches. Most of the eating, however, was done during incredible meals with friends. It's been a decadent summer. Mussels and frites with The Wise(ass) Soprano. Getting back to my roots by cooking Bratwurst and Rotkraut and Kartoffeln for CameraMan. Picnics at the Filene Center. Tapas with MuseumGirl and then again after a Spy Museum outing with CameraMan, Wise Soprano, and Diva-in-Training: dates wrapped in bacon, chorizo with garlic potatoes, monkfish with eggplant puree, and anything we could get our hands on that came with their amazing alioli. The list goes on and on.

It's all been delicious, but it's taken its toll. It's clear to me that the only reasonable solution is to stop eating for the month of August.

Just as soon as I finish these curly fries.

*critical ass adj. The stage in fat accumulation when fabric can no longer contain the enormity of one's buttocks.