Warning: this story is slightly gross, but I'm pretty sure the embarrassing hilarity makes up for it.A few Chicago summers ago, the weather was so unbearably hot--and our apartment so woefully unairconditioned--that I decided to watch some telly sans apparel, in the bedroom where the temp was a wee bit lower. After a while, the program before my eyeballs no longer met my satisfaction, so I reached down for the remote, but couldn't find it. I looked left, right, under the sheets--all to no avail. Then I stood up, only to have the remote fall out from its hiding place--between the rolls of my belly fat. I hadn't even felt it there. The memory of it still gives me the icks--so much so that I can't believe I've waited this long to tackle my weight loss in earnest.
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