This is a potato masher and beater; it says so right on the metal part. It is hard to read after so much use and when I first glanced at it I thought it said FATOMASHER. I guess I was still thinking of the diet thing. (Hey, I had oatmeal for breakfast.)
Now below is a potato masher with the potential to mash many other things. You don’t want to see it at this angle in someone else’s hand.
It is around seven o’clock and perhaps I wish I were still snoozing; my eyes are tired, but when I close them, I think, “Okay, what now?” I am wavering this morning about starting a diet cold turkey, which reminds me I ate the last of it last everning. The Der Bingle crew has done so well and I know it is for my own good . . . but my spirits are low, my motivation is low and Idon’t wanna. Of course, if I do actually diet, my personality will be so irritating . . . not that anyone would notice since I am already off the scales. Oops. Scales. Inadvertant punning rears its ugly head.
Well, here I go on a test run through the kitchen.
Oh, dear, a scary thought just popped into my head: What if I wrote down everything I ate here. I could eat anything I wanted but I had to write it down . . . here. Of course, I could lie. Almost panicked.