Things I’m afraid of:

1.  The look my Mom gives me when I reach across the dinner table for a second helping.

Yes, I’m on a diet. Yes, my Mom’s kind of like my nutritionist/personal trainer (because she keeps reminding I need to exercise more)/food-warden. *Sigh*

But I’m not complaining. Although I do turn into a 5-year old when she tells me to put down that cookie/cupcake/French fry/anything: “But Moooooooooom!!” Needless to say all the rants are lost on my Mom and she just rolls her eyes and tell me to stop acting like I’m not as fat as I really am.

Yes, my Mom never had to tell me to “act your age”.  But she does now find it very necessary to remind me to “act your size” every day. The painful irony to all this dieting (read “torture”) is that I’m still in-charge of taking care of my siblings’ sweet tooth. (God, take me now.)

In related news, the one-pan skillet cookie I baked yesterday was yummy, or so I’ve been told. And also the soufflé I’m making today will be the “talk of the town” for months to come. Do you see the irony here?