I woke up this morning at 6:30 am and began tearing through my
“What’s going on?” asked David.
“I’m looking for my weigh-in pants.”
Yes, I have a weigh-in ritual. I need to wear the exact same pants and top each time I weigh in, and I use the same scale every week. The scales are in tenths of a pound after all. I do not wear earrings and I take my glasses off to weigh in. I don’t wash my hair because wet hair (especially all of mine) is bound to add some weight. I don’t eat anything that will bulk me up on Saturday evening, and I pray to the bowel movement gods that things will “move” before the weigh-in. BM’s are the new post-menopausal equivalent of periods in terms of weigh-in day.
Sure enough, I never found my lucky pants. Instead, I wore the lightest weight pair of shorts in my closet, though they were rumpled and not the least bit flattering, and figured what the hell, I might as well wear a tee-shirt and not my typical weigh-in shirt. I went, with my dirty-but-dry hair, my ugly shorts, and my earring-less earlobes (and I’ll spare you the BM status), sure this would be a weigh-in disaster. I lost a teeny amount. So next week, I am hoping for a big loss – especially since I am getting my hair cut on Wednesday!