This was written on vacation in the Virgin Islands a few weeks ago. A bit of dieting wisdom to share...
It’s the morning after. I’m sitting on the wooden deck of my hotel room overlooking the turquoise waters of the Caribbean . Last night was the Full Moon Party, and not just any full moon party. This was a monthly event attended by hundreds, sometimes thousands, held in a hastily thrown together shack made of driftwood, leftover lumber, signs, old license plates and ladies panties! Live reggae music blared, alcohol flowed, mushroom tea boiled in cauldrons over an open fire. The smell of BBQ ribs was in the air. This was the ubiquitous Bomba Shack. And there I was, on a diet, surrounded by French fries, rum and other delectable no-no’s. What’s a girl to do?
FAKE IT! (No, not like Meg Ryan in "When Harry Met Sally").
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