"Another Potty Bites The Dust"

Okay so I'm still in total and utter agony with my mouth.  I won't go on about it (okay maybe just a little - indulge me) as I know it's bloody boring and totally inconsequential to anyone but myself (...or perhaps my family who are openly suffering from my recent and total decline in interest in the culinary arts...)

But I'm trying to get better I really am!  Every morning I imbibe a veritable plethora of capsules, painkillers, concentrated vitamin shots, gulp down a sickly probiotic drink, a protein drink...and...okay fine...a GIANT cappuccino.  Later in the afternoon I'll halfheartedly slurp down a bowl of plain porridge, and in the evening if I'm really in the 'mood' I'll suck on a few mangoes...woo-hoo...rock n' roll.

The only positive spin I can put on this recent surgical oral mutilation (sorry, I meant 'professional oral surgery' carried out by a no doubt competent surgeon who simply wanted to finish her shift early so she could get home to a cup of soup and some night time drama on telly) is...wait for it....weight loss. 

You know, come to think of it, if anyone out there fancies dropping a few pounds before bikini season, then might I be so helpful as to suggest that you make your way to King's College Hospital, fake an abcess, and seek out the first friendly, mustachioed female oral surgeon you come across.  One mouth massacre later and you'll be such a painful, bloody mess you won't ever want to eat again (though you  may at some point in desperation consider melting an entire pint of Haagan-Daz and sipping it through a straw....just avoid anything with nuts or bits of chocolate).

It's funny - now that meals and snacks have ceased to be of any interest, it's amazing how much time that frees up in an average day.  Fortunately I have Dumpie's 'potty training' to keep me occupied. Unfortunately, after depositing the tiniest of tiny little brown nuggets in his bright red potty last night, he has failed to follow it up with anything more promising than 'riding' his potty like a caboose across the kitchen floor earlier today whilst fully clad and making 'choo-choo' noises, his mouth stuffed with peanut butter toast.

 

He does however find it a useful receptacal for his growing collection of 'footballs'.  Any attempt to coerce him into using it for it's real purpose results in it being chucked down one or more flights of stairs with a dismissive air.

When the husband came home from work today and spotted the plastic piece of junk lying forlornly on its side in the entrance hall, I found it ridiculous that he even had to pose the question:

"Not much luck with the potty today then?" 

Duh....you think?