My father just asked me if I am pregnant.
Because, currently, I am sporting a beer belly.
I have every reason to believe that this beer belly is in fact comprised primarily of beer, as Dad himself was the one who purchased me three beers the night of the Mark Knopfler concert. He also encouraged me to chug the final bit of Beer #2 as we were dashing out of the pub, headed to our concert. After all, who wants to waste a Boulevard Wheat on tap? Not me.
So I've decided on the following life steps:
1. No beer. For a while. A long while.
2. Lots of water. To flush all this business out. (That sounded really disgusting, sorry).
3. Limited, limited amounts of salt. No need to retain any more liquid, malt or otherwise.
4. Back to the gym/running trails as soon as I get an open window in this ridiculous schedule of mine (seriously, Prof, only three class meetings between papers? I have other things to be reading this weekend, such as The Cat in the Hat. And yes, yes I did spend the afternoon at the mall with Caleb purchasing clothes I don't need.)
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