Falcone's Crossroads

Where This Meets That

Slipping beneath My Cross

Week 8 was hard in many ways.

Friday night I baked a thick, two-layer, ocean-themed “Father-Son cake” with my Tiger Cub for the Blue & Gold banquet on yesterday.  The cake was half chocolate, half yellow, and all wonderful – or looked it, at least.

I didn’t have any.  Not the beaters. Not the “crown scraps”. Not the icing.

For effect, before I showed my wife the finished product, I smeared frosting all over my cheeks and chin to look like I’d swum in it.  I’m not sure if she was more amused or attracted (she loves sweets like I do), but sometimes humor pays a cruel toll: it was heart-breaking to wash it all off my face with nary a taste.

Nevertheless, even when the winning bidder approached me with a slice of it yesterday and stuffed in into my longing mitts, I resisted.

As an attempted encore last night, my daughter and I went to the Girl Scout “Daddy-Daughter Dance” and ate at Red Lobster beforehand.

If you’re familiar with Red Lobster, then you know their Cheddar Bay biscuits. I left them all to my daughter.

The seafood stuffed flounder with broccoli I chose was wonderful but probably had some bread crumbs in the crab stuffing. Oh well. It was good!

Unfortunately, because I’d allowed my daughter a biscuit monopoly, she wasn’t able to eat many of her popcorn shrimp. Now, I love popcorn shrimp (or almost any shrimp, for that matter), so that’s when I caved and finished them for her.  A small, kid’s portion slip but a slip nonetheless – probably my first since I started TS2012.

By the time we reached the dance, I’d regained my traction and successfully ignored the bowls of mixed snack-sized candies and the table of motley Girl Scout-baked desserts. A handful of popcorn was the extent of my dietary infidelity for the remainder of the evening.

As for today’s official weekly weigh-in? I was up a pound.

I’ve been tracking my weight on a daily basis, and I’d been roughly flat – give or take – all week, so I’m not going to blame the 1-lb gain on a few popcorn shrimp. Slips are going to happen, and some would argue that they need to happen. Nevertheless, that proverbial slippery slope only takes a little slip to give way to the plunge.

After my slip last night, I texted my wife asking her prayers, given my fragile perch before the dance. She texted back, “Praying now. You pray, too.”  Good reminder from a good partner.

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One comment on “Slipping beneath My Cross

  1. Pingback: Week 8 Update | Tip the Scales 2012!

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