My favorite bit of drinking lore involves "the seal." Urban Dictionary defines it thusly:
Your first piss in the pub, usually after 2 hours of drinking. After breaking the seal of your bladder, repeat visits to the toilet will be required every 10 or 15 minutes for the rest of the night.
I think a similar thing happened to me yesterday. I think the pizza broke the seal. Oh, I had my BAS for dinner, but there was 1/4 of a cheese quesadilla in the fridge leftover from my son's dinner on Tuesday. Normally I would have had no problem passing it by (or just tossing it out) but I went for it.
On my way to pick up my son, I realized I needed to gas up the car. I usually head up to Costco since prices are a couple of cents cheaper than the Arco. Son and I filled the tank. Then I realized that Dairy Queen was right across the street.
It's just a small vanilla cone, I thought. I may as well -- I'm already tainted by pizza and quesadilla....
I tell you, it was the best damned small vanilla soft-serve cone I ever had.
Of course I realize that one slice of pizza, a fourth of a quesadilla, and a small cone aren't going to send me hurtling down the road to ruin, but after gaining and losing the same 20 lbs repeatedly, I can say with authority that this is how backsliding starts, at least for me.
It starts with a small transgression or two. The scale lets me get away with it. The slips start coming closer together -- first every weekend, then twice a week, every other day, daily -- and the scale stays pat. I relax my guard and/or get distracted and suddenly it's 5 lbs.
Not a tragedy, only 5 lbs, right? But then Something Happens, either holidays and winter and my resulting hibernation, or something else that wrecks my attitude or saps my energy, and I stop eating the right things. And boom! It's back in the fat pants, usually with a few extra lbs for flare.
I'm still determined not to let it happen again, but I'm old and jaded enough to know to Never Say Never.