Fat, but not THAT fat.

I should tell you that I have not, before today, owned a set of scales since the year 2000. My youngest daughter was in junior high and developed the habit of weighing herself…. multiple.times.a.day and freaking out if she weighed more during one of those weigh-ins than an earlier one. She had also casually mentioned to me that she knew several girls who threw-up a lot. So, being the wise Mom that I am, one day while she was at school I tossed the scales in the trash. It was truly one of the few things I did as a Mother that actually worked. She quit obsessing and today she maintains a very healthy weight.

So last week, I was down in my back. I was in enough pain that I found a doctor first thing Monday morning. It was to be my first weigh-in in many months. I have been unemployed since October and have spent much of that time in my day-room, in a single bed, with a laptop. Oh God, if only I could get paid for that. Anyway, I knew I was gaining weight but I wasn’t the slightest bit apprehensive about getting weighed because I was in too much PAIN! The nurse asked me to step on the scales and she began to slide the weight. By the way, why the hell do they always start with 100? I mean, it’s obvious by looking at me that you should just go ahead and start at 150. I wasn’t paying attention and then she announced my weight out-loud and whisked me off to one of those little rooms where they make you wait some more. Have I mentioned I was in PAIN? I was not worried about the number she called out, but somewhere in a tiny part of my brain that wasn’t screaming at me not to MOVE, a voice was screaming, “Jesus Christ! How did you get that fat? You are one lazy, worthless piece of shit.” If you are a woman reading this, you know that voice.

One week later, I am pain free and that little voice pushed its way to the front and said “Ok, what ya gonna do about that fat problem? You know that is dangerously close to a place you said you’d never go. You won’t even be able to wear shorts.” Wearing long pants is not an option where I live for about 10 months out of the year. It is important that I can wear comfortable and at least slightly stylish shorts.

I have done Weight Watchers. I know how. I decided to do it online this time instead of “going to meeting”, the only thing I needed was a scale. Sigh. I had held out for so long, it was kind of a small matter of pride. Then I remembered how little pride I still have left and how practiced I am at swallowing it and drove down to the nearest scale-getting store. I brought it home to set it up, cause it’s a fancy scale that keeps a target weight and tells you how far you have to go, and stepped on.

OH MY FREAKING GOD!!  The nurse added thirteen pounds to my real weight. THIRTEEN POUNDS, PEOPLE! 13! Ten + Three!

I am going to go ahead with my plan, because I am still fat, but can you imagine how much skinnier I feel already?? Today is a good day in the life of me. I need to send that nurse a Thank-You note.

About rolling my eyes at the world

Gulf Coast Summer Loving, 50ish, Unapologetic Yellow Dog Democrat
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