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Fried chicken

The challenge in acquiring a new habit--or, more precisely, stripping away a bad one--is that sometimes making the necessary adjustments takes a lesser priority than making someone happy and comfortable. I spent the weekend with Keona, a.k.a. The Baby My Sister Had For Me.

On Saturday, we went to see C3PO and the Storm Troopers in Southmall (I was Auntie mode all the way). Before that, we had lunch with Tita Emily. Now, Southmall doesn't have a lot of kid-friendly restaurants (read: a restaurant a kid could roam around in that's not so traumatic for the Auntie), so we ended up in Shakey's, as usual.

And because we were in Shakey's, of course I ate fried chicken, thereby breaking my barely a week-old resolution. At least I didn't give in to the pepperoni pizza; I ordered my own Friday's Special.

The good news is that I had to run around Southmall, chasing after Keona, or carry her while shopping, so I had plenty of exercise.

The bad news is, for dinner, my sister asked for KFC takeout. She did lend me Keona and Nana Tin for the whole afternoon, so I gladly consented.

I did think of buying my own fish dinner, but I was too tired (read: lazy, too) to go to another restaurant, I just went ahead and bought a six-piece bucket of KFC.

The next day, my sister, her husband and my baby came over. There was nothing else to cook, except ready-to-cook spicy fried chicken. So guess what we had for dinner?

And because it was spicy fried chicken, it wasn't as popular in the household as regular fried chicken, so we had a couple of pieces left over. Which I ate the next day, of course.

So, this is exactly why I want to give up red meat and fried chicken. If not, I would be eating it everyday.

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