As I’ve mentioned in passing, I started Weight Watchers – again – about four weeks ago. Yesterday was the weekly weigh-in. Only a fellow non-svelte person can truly understand the horror of a weigh in. The horror that is present even when I KNOW I’ve been following the program somewhat religiously.
Oh, okay, I’m not journaling nor have I been very good about drinking my water. So I guess I’m not really being all that religious about it. But I’ve been pretty darn good. And I’m not stunned when the scale shows a loss (8.6 pounds so far – and only a fellow Weight Watcher can recite his or her weight loss to 2/10ths of a pound!).
And yet, when it’s time to weigh in and have someone else see the number? Music akin to that which might be heard in a Hitchcock movie starts playing in my head. Funky graphics like those accompanying Jimmy Stewart experiencing vertigo flash behind my eyes. And, of course, everything that might possibly affect the number on that scale is removed – sweater, shoes, heavy jewelry. And, yes, there is the requisite potty break immediately prior to stepping on the scale. Heck, if I could weigh in naked, I would. But it wouldn’t be fair to traumatize my fellow shoeless weighers like that.
My entire family belongs to Mensa (the club of good test-takers) and we have hosted the local group’s annual “chocolate” meeting at our house for the past two years. The 3rd annual Chocolate Challenge is this Saturday.
As Lloyd Bridges might have said in “Airplane” – it was a bad month to start a diet!
I’m fearful for my points-counting self at tomorrow’s meeting/chocolate fest. I mean, I will personally be baking a scrumptious chocolate cake. Decadent Fudge Cake to be precise. And there will be many, many other delicious chocolate items available for consumption.
Pray for me.