Tomorrow comes the challenge.

Every six weeks, I take my grandmother to get her hair done. We always go to lunch, usually to Red Lobster. It doesn't matter where we go; everywhere there's going to be things that are full of carbs. So I already know that tomorrow I'll end up weighing my options against my desire to appear to be dieting to my grandmother, who will then start "helpfully" telling me about Weight Watchers and how she's so proud of me and assorted other stuff that will lead to me having one of my meltdowns. Fuck.