Who've I Gotta F*** to Lose a Kilo

I've always been an athlete-artist personage.

Tennis, horse-back riding, running, swimming,
dance, music, writing, acting--and all of that on my mom's
single mother with two kids salary--no country club action.

Now that I'm 40 my exercise is running. 3 + miles/day.
And I know how to eat. But this summers fete action has
not been peeling off like the winter fete action did.
I've been running like a flea for 6 weeks and the scale
will not give up the goods. The goods are staying on me
in an all-over cuddle sort of way and that would be ok
except:

in 5 weeks I am going to be face to face with a full on
very hot movie star with whom I was friends 10 years ago
when we were in the same acting class and I weighed
20 pounds less. I haven't seen him in all of those 10 years.

this is not going to be good.

No one would call me fat, being 5'10".
But I gain all over which means my face, as well.
It is all a little disheartening. Like I am going to full
on see my physical demise in a close-up shot from
a straight woman's hell. The falling face of a handsome man.

My own man loves my body. And shows me. Every day.
For this I am grateful and thankful. And I show my thanks.
Every day.

But who've I gotta f*** to lose at least one friggin' kilo?

the good news: suicide moment is over and the very large
dining room ceiling is painted as the floor awaits the
positioning of the wood face it will sport into eternity.

also: Barack is going to pull out of Afghanistan.

And: my scrabble score is up.

so there's that.