We're going to get that shit off of you," she told me.
I figured that is was love and decided to cooperate... Sarah began counting my calories.
She took away my fried foods, bread and potatoes, salad dressing, but I kept my beer.
I had to show her who was wearing the pants in our family.
No, damn it," I said, "I won't give up my beer.
I love you very much but the beer stays!" "All right," said Sarah, "we'll make it work anyway." "Make what work?" "I mean, get that shit off you, get you down to a desirable size." "And what's a desirable size?" I asked.
You'll see." Each night when I got home she'd ask me the same questionl "Did you punch your sides today?" "Oh, hell yes!" "How many times?" "400 punches on both sides, hard." I would walk down the streets punching at my sides.
