Okay, I made it through one Italian restaurant and one How-rare-would-your-like-your-side-of-beef? restaurant with minimal consumption (given the context), only to find myself in an entirely different kind of trouble. I have now spent more time SCRAPBOOKING Florence than I spent IN Florence. I'm dying here. And I'm not working out, because there is no time -- I've GOT to get out of Florence and back to Rome and finish the 10 million Vatican photos, before I can even start on the last 2/3rds of this dam vacation. The digital age is fabulous and convenient, but right now I kind of wish I only had one black and white photo from each city that I could center on its own black album page with those little photo corners that always fall off after a few years. Ah, the good ol' days.
I'm weighing myself this weekend, but am telling myself, well, mostly you guys, that the numbers are meaningless -- I'm bloated and had to eat out twice, so it's not really fair to look at the numbers, right? Okay, like 116.2 this morning. Which ain't bad, considering. Tonight: broccoli and spinach. Saintly.
Gotta go scrap.
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