Wednesday, 27 August 2014

The Hunger Games

Six. I have no issues with the number, six. As a matter of fact, in many cases I find it to be quite a bearer of joy. 6, from the end of the cricketer's bat breeds an explosion of sound that leaves the batter and fans in elation. Six, resembles half-a-dozen white-coated chocolate eggs during Easter time. 6, is also the amount of characters in my name, as well as beauty, flower, tennis and supper!

But lately, the number six has started to get on my nerves. 

I'm not referring to 3 sixes mysteriously placed in close proximity of each other which has some individuals in paranoia and deciphering every mayonnaise bottle's bar-code. No. Six, is currently the amount of superfluous weight* that keeps me from my ideal weight*. It is obviously due to the fact that those half-a-dozen white-coated chocolate eggs never see the view from the food cabinet before facing an artillery of 30-odd, hard, calcified, whitish chompers, with which they'll never stand a chance. 

You might say- "don't be so hard on yourself", but let me put it this way... 6 kg amounts to 12 blocks of butter.

This could have been put to much better use, for example, to make chocolate cake for one, or perhaps this outstanding butter statue of ET... 

or just to throw at those that say they are fat, when they're one stomach-gas expulsion away from disappearing entirely!

So, may this be a warning to my kg of 6. Let the hunger games begin, and may the odds be ever in my favour. 
                                             (right after decapitating this cupcake...)

*Because my husband is a genius, uh, I mean, Physics major (same thing), I thought I should add that when I speak about weight I am actually referring to mass (kg).

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