Four months doth not a life make. methinks.
But forsooth, the carbs I do not take forthwith.
Yet hark the day breaks yet forth when mighty cravings may appear and smite the fair Rustpot in his tracks.

And thus the vigilante watch he keeps, lest morsels of a floury kind might slip twixt cup and plate whence not the numbers counted low shall cause a tragic spike and deafening stall.

If truth be told upon this day and wisdom speaks from a winter OWL, the time is yet to come when sanguine humours do abate and corpulent frame is sculptured less.

And yet the present task is hardly done and daily life not so ingrained as makes the very thought of sweetness sour the brain. But when the flesh shall stand like a greyhound in the slips then surely life will mirror appetite henceforth.