Let me just tell you how outta freaking shape I feel these days. (Yes, we will wrap ice cream into this conversation. Watch and learn, children.) Okay, for realz – how outta freaking shape I am. Let’s be honest. It ain’t pretty. Sure, my clothes are all the same size; they more or less fit the same as they have for oh, 4 years now. But that’s not the point. There seems to be a lot more wiggle in my jiggle, if you catch my drift. I’d like to blame my love for food, or maybe this blog, or maybe Chicago and San Francisco, or my genes (which that one, that one is a good one – have you seen the hips and thighs of my Southern aunts?!). But at the end of the day, it’s really all because I am a loud and proud, lifetime member of the “clean...
