Day 206

I like to think that our house does a pretty good job about cooking actual meals most nights. I fully admit that my husband does at least half, if not more, of the cooking, as his schedule allows him to be home three to four days of the week.

But some nights, it's just plain not worth it. Neither of us feels like cooking, and peanut butter sandwiches just seems wrong.

So- pizza and beer it is. Or rather- carbs and carbs it is. And tonight I just don't care.

Unfortuantely, as I eat my second slice of pizza the health angel (or nazi, depending on how you look at it...) on my one shoulder is screaming visciously in my ear that I will be kicking myself as I run tommorow, and that our goal race is only a few weeks away.

Then there's the God of Glutton on my other shoulder. He just hands me some earplugs and pats me on the back.

Now some of you will laugh when you see what type of beer I am drinking. And laugh you may. Lord knows I always giggled inside when I worked at the movie theatre and a patron would order a large popcorn with extra extra extra butter and a "small diet coke please"...But the light beer is my compromise, and a way to keep the health angel from flying away and never coming back- leaving me with the God of Glutton and the good possibility of thunder thighs.

Tonight's pic represents no-brainer, no-cooking evenings where calories and carbs aren't counted, and guilt is pushed aside until that moment in the next day's workout where you think you may throw up. TGIF my friends- hope you are enjoying this beautiful evening with good food and a drink in your hand!