Me Want Cookies

It is official. I am a fatass. How do I know this, you ask? My doctor told me so. Ok, not in so many words but I went to the doctor yesterday for my check up and I have gained 8 pounds (8 pounds!!!) in 3 weeks. That, America, is almost 1/2 a pound a day which translates into a whole hell of alot of simple sugars- medically speaking. So my doctor who apparently doesn't practice tactfulness asks me, "Girl, what on earth have you been eating?!" I keep my head down, suddenly taking great interest in counting the specks on the floor and quietly answer, "Cookies."
"Like everyday??" She drills me like the cookie monster that I have become. "Uh, yeah. Sometimes 2 times a day."

That's right America. My name is Mandi, and I have a Cookie problem. I have tried to stop but I am too far gone into the dark depths of deliciousness that only the Cookie can bring. And it has cost me- 8 pounds to be exact.

So Dr. Discretion sent me home equipped with the unsolicited advise of "How 'bout laying off those Cookies?" along with the order to drink more water and eat more greens. But sadly we both know that in the epic battle of Mandi vs. The Cookie, The Cookie will come out victorious. And my thighs, in all their dimpled glory, will suffer the consequences.