Well, I'm finally home from my weekend of ruin. Vegas, the city of sin, plunged me deep into the pit of one of the most vile "7 deadlies" of them all - Gluttony.
I wish I could tell you that I bounced out of bed and raced to the gym each morning while away. I wish I could tell you that I bravely met each meal with self control made of steel, impenetrable by olive oil, truffle, fresh pasta, sticky bun, pretzel, champagne induced forces. I wish I could say a lot of things, but I can't.
After arriving home yesterday carrying luggage filled with loathing, self-pity (oh and a new pair of shoes and a sparkly, cute Nanette Lepore dress), I set out to come to grips with my weekend of excess, move beyond beating myself up, and get back on track.
But before I share how I plan to get refocused (more on that tomorrow), I figure it is better to come clean with you on what has led to my skinny jeans retiring temporarily to the back of my closet.