I've a fat chance of nice meal.
MY wife has been crowned 'slimmer of the month' at her weight-loss class as reward for shedding a stone.
At last week's meeting, she stepped on the scales and discovered she'd shifted another six pounds of excessive baggage. Overweight women cheered.
Her friend stepped on the scales and discovered she'd shifted half-a-pound, presumably by removing the loose change from her pocket.
I think someone tried to spit at her.
Victoria Cross recipients have been honoured with citations less gushing than the one Julie received in the post from her slimming guru. "Well done," it said, "you really are an absolute marvel."
I think someone sent her friend a parcel with dog excrement in it. A curt note stated: "Eat this - you've obviously eaten everything else."
I should also receive a citation - for having to endure the lean cuisine now served at Chateau Lockley.
I once read the amount of energy used by a male elephant while mating is equivalent to the calories in 14 helpings of fish and chips.
There wasn't enough sustenance in last night's dinner to get a mosquito through foreplay.
The fact her friend is close to suicide hasn't tempered my wife's jubilation over her slimming success.
"I haven't cheated," whimpered her pal, "here's my diet sheet diary to prove it."
We couldn't read it - she'd spilt chocolate sauce over the writing.
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|Publication:||Sunday Mercury (Birmingham, England)|
|Date:||May 29, 2011|
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