I go to the gym on Sunday - yes, Sunday; on a holiday.
Monday night, I was forced to attend a sitdown three-hours-long dinner for the launch of a French Pastry Festival as part of my job (No, I DID NOT volunteer or you wouldn't have heard any loud opposition also).
I had foeigras and scallops, asparagus soup, baked zucchini, and slices of heaven in the form of gorgeous pastries I could marry and raise babies with.
Mission Shed Puppy Fat still on hold.
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