I have been a “Weight Watcher” on and off for several years now. On<\/em> when I have extra money and well, extra motivation. Off<\/em> when I realize that only counting points one day a week does not make for an effective weight-loss regimen or a very loyal “Weight Watcher” for that matter. And, lately I’ve beenin the off<\/em> pattern. Until now.<\/p>\n

I’ve been revamped with some new motivation. Here goes.<\/p>\n

1. Everyone around me is getting skinny, ‘cept me.<\/p>\n

2. My “fat pants” are starting to pinch. Crap.<\/p>\n

3. I’ve slowly crept past my “will never weigh that amount again” amount. Super-crap.<\/p>\n

4. My boobs are getting too big.<\/p>\n

So, I have decided to fire off on a new quest…a quest to lose weight. Again. For like the forty-hundredth time. But I think this time will be a teensy bit different than the others. Why, you ask?<\/p>\n

Because I have subjected myself to something I swore I would never do. I have broken the unspoken code of our kind…I have breached the most agreed-upon rule I have learned since becoming a “woman.” I told my husband how much I weigh.<\/p>\n

Allow me a moment to collect myself…it seems so much worse now that I’ve put it out there for the web-world to read. Find your happy place, Mindy. No, not Krispy Kreme! That’s what got you in trouble in the first place! Channel Denise Austin, Jane Fonda, the Buns of Steel folks…hell, at this point channel Richard Simmons!<\/p>\n

Okay, I’m back. And I’m okay.<\/p>\n

So, the story goes…<\/p>\n

Me: Um, hey, Jer. I have something to ask you and it makes me feel a teensy bit uncomfortable.<\/p>\n

Him: What?<\/p>\n

Me: I don’t know how to put this…<\/p>\n

Him: What’s up? Let me guess…you want to become swingers! (He starts snickering.)<\/p>\n

Me: Yes.<\/p>\n

Him: Wh-wh-what? Seriously? (Men are so simple, bless their hearts.)<\/p>\n

Me: No. I want you to start weighing me. Like, be my Weight Watchers coach.<\/p>\n

Him: (Confused and slightly bewildered) So you’re saying you don’t want to be swingers?<\/p>\n

Me: Focus, Jer. That was a joke. Seriously, get a grip. Did you hear what I said about weighing me?<\/p>\n

Him: (I can tell he’s coming back from the ‘swinging’ reference.) Okay, yes. I heard you. Are you sure you want me to?<\/p>\n

Me: Yes. I do. I think it will really help me if I know I have to be accountable to someone. And not a friend. It’s pretty easy to convince a friend to skip weigh-in and hit the Rooty Tooty Fresh’n Fruity for breakfast instead. You will keep me focused.<\/p>\n

Him: Um, I don’t know if this is a good idea. You’re going to get all mad at me and stuff.<\/p>\n

Me: No, I’m not. I’m going to be a total grown-up about it and you’re not a judgmental person so we should have no problem.<\/p>\n

Him: Okay, give it to me. What’s your weight?<\/p>\n

Okay, so here’s where it got a little ugly. After about 15 minutes I was able to write down my weight on a piece of paper and slip it to him. He looked down at it, looked at me, smiled and then slipped it into his desk drawer.<\/p>\n

Me: What was that smirk about?<\/p>\n

Him: I didn’t smirk.<\/p>\n

Me: Yes, you did. You smirked right after you looked at the paper. What was that about?<\/p>\n

Him: Mindy, I didn’t smirk. I simply looked at the paper. And if you’re going to act like this each week then I’m not doing this. You can’t be mean to me.<\/p>\n

Me: Humph.<\/p>\n

And…that was this morning. First weigh-in. I can’t say it went too well but I’m holding out hopes that next week is much smoother. I can say this much though…Jer is one brave muchacho.<\/p>\n

Love to all, Mindy<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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