Dear Decision to Eat My Way Through Switzerland and the South of France,
You seemed so right at the time, but now, firmly back on American soil where there aren't profiterole and gelaterias and vats of wine on every street corner, the image of my fat ass/thighs/muffin top pouring out of my once great jeans has convinced me that you done me wrong. In nine days I must've gained at least as many pounds, and I'm horribly embarrassed. I'd crawl into a cave to hide, but your consequences won't leave me if I just lie around prone. Too bad I lack all motivation to work out. Maybe once the "new" crush solidly rejects me (will it be tonight? Friday night? Stay tuned!) I will have nothing left but the pounding of my shoes on the pavement to turn to. In the meantime, I can only make the vow to never come to you again!
Hoping I don't drunk dial you for an American hookup,