The other night, my little chickadee told me I was skinny.
The next day when I got home, my cleaning lady called me "skinny minny."
Did my heart good.
Then my little chickadee retracted, saying that I was "very slim" rather than skinny, explaining that skinny implied not healthy.
Whatever. I'll take it. It's been so many years since I've been called either.
Yesterday my massage theraaahpist arrived shortly after we had a photo shoot. She too said that I surely am a "skinny minny." (Then we giggled because she commented that it is so rare that she sees me dressed -- I'm usually in a dressing gown, ready for my treatment, when she arrives.)
Anyway, here I am now, a mere five pounds and two weeks away from my goal.
The photographer forgot to say "smile" before he took the photo. He took several shots, this being the least of all evils. (Let the record show that I don't like any photos of me.) My beauty queen daughter I am not!