Day 66 & 67: The Weekend Edition

Saturday was completely written off.

Like, stamped, shredded, and sent back to sender.

Why?

Because yours truly thought it was a good idea to drink wine on Friday night while on Mounjaro.

Spoiler: it wasn’t.

Half the night was spent in the world’s most glamorous nightclub - Club Porcelain - with my head elegantly plunged into the toilet bowl like some kind of tragic Greek statue.

By morning, I was basically an extra from The Walking Dead.

Couldn’t even look at food without gagging.

Eventually, I managed a thin bagel with lettuce and tomato.

Yes, my friends, lettuce and tomato.

I have officially joined the rabbit community.

At this rate, I expect to wake up in a hutch with Molly and Ruby looking at me like, “Move over, bitch, this is our lettuce.”

The day itself was essentially a duvet marathon. I spent the entire day in bed with one of my cats (can’t say which one, as they are both now vying for “favourite child” status).

Together, we binge-watched the new season of Heartland. Yes, I am a serial binge-watcher.

No, I do not need an intervention.

Netflix is my love language.

Meanwhile, my darling boyfriend cooked some beautiful ravioli in a tomato and mascarpone sauce.

Delicious… but I managed about four pieces before I was done.

FOUR.

Honestly, I think my stomach has shrunk to the size of a walnut.

7.5 mg Mounjaro is doing its job.

If this continues, I’ll be full after licking a postage stamp.

And what did I do after eating those four heroic ravioli?

Went straight back to bed.

Yes.

To watch even more Netflix rubbish.

Don’t judge me.

He was DJing downstairs, building his new mix, while I was upstairs building my personal Netflix universe.

That’s what I call division of labour.

I was meant to go for a lovely countryside walk with the girls in the morning, but after my midnight tango with the toilet bowl, that was obviously cancelled. Thankfully, the sickness didn’t return, because I cannot. stand. it. Honestly, nausea is my villain origin story.

Sunday, Day 67.

Woke up with just a hint of nausea, like a lingering bad smell. Started the day with coffee + collagen (because I am basically a walking advert for supplements now) and another thin bagel, this time with strawberry jam.

Cravings?

Gone.

Finished.

Wiped off the map.

Second jab = mission accomplished.

Bottom line: I cannot drink alcohol with Mounjaro.

My stomach and probably all my internal organs are staging a full rebellion.

Then came the highlight of the day: food shopping.

Ah yes, the glamorous life.

We were halfway through self-scanning when the scanner threw a diva tantrum and told me to “please start again.”

Excuse me?

Restart the shopping?

Not on my watch.

Off to the till we went, where at least the cashier had something to do. You’re welcome, madam.

Next stop: Boots, to collect my next MJ pen, plus 45 other things I didn’t technically need but absolutely needed.

Then a quick stop at Crew, where I decided I must have been a sailor in a past life (naturally, I bought a stripey jumper to honour my nautical roots). Also picked up a purple cable knit number that makes me look like a proud aubergine.

Fashion, darling. 25% discount = result!

Sadly, I was banned by Mr. from going into Oliver Bonas.

Still no idea why.

It’s like he doesn’t want me to own unnecessary pastel-coloured mugs and overpriced vases.

Weird.

Anyway, I’m now back to a size 12 - WHOOP WHOOP - so clearly I was obliged to buy two jumpers. I don’t make the rules.

Back home, I went full Domestic Goddess Mode between 2 and 5pm.

Roast chicken with all the trimmings.

Sage & onion stuffing.

Crispy roast potatoes.

Honey carrots.

Yorkshire puds.

You name it, I made it. And then… when it finally landed on the table?

I wasn’t even hungry anymore.

Classic.

I just nibbled like a polite bird while my boyfriend hoovered down most of it.

Silver lining: he’s now sorted for leftovers for the next two days.

And because Sunday is also Laundry Day, both the washing machine and dryer were going nonstop. Honestly, they’re the hardest working members of this household.

Now, brace yourself: my boyfriend asked Copilot whether he’s a good DJ. The essay-length response it spat out was comedy gold. Like, a 5,000-word dissertation on his BPM skills.

I nearly died laughing.

I mean, I could have just told him he’s brilliant - but where’s the fun in that?

Other highlights:

I am waiting (with bated breath) for my new Rehab Your Hair products to arrive tomorrow. Stacey Solomon swears by them, so obviously I had to. My poor hair is hanging on for dear life.

I’m already dosing myself up with biotin, collagen, CHAMPO serum, and possibly witchcraft.

Stay tuned.

Now...The NFL Eagles vs Rams game.

Don’t disturb me when football is on. Priorities.

So my lovelies, that’s the weekend tea: sickness, shopping, laundry, Netflix, aubergine jumpers, roast dinners, and philosophical debates about whether my boyfriend is the next Tiësto.

Tomorrow is an office day, which means early night + 5am wake-up.

Must also remember to stock up on ginger chews before I turn into the Hulk from nausea.

Until then - have a fab evening, and may your roast potatoes always come out crispy.

With Love and a Brand New Aubergine Cable Knit Jumper,

JABatha Christie