Today I pulled myself up by my (big, fat) bootstraps and went to a Weight Watchers meeting. It was my first since November 28th, when I discovered I had gained weight at Thanksgiving. "What a surprise!" I murmured to myself, "usually sitting around on my butt eating highly caloric food has no effect whatsoever on my weight. I'd better watch what I eat--and exercise more. Yeah, that's the ticket."
Then the madness that is part-time Christmas singing kicked in.
Accordingly, the next Wednesday, I had a lunchtime singing engagement and couldn't make my meeting.
The Wednesday after that, it was my birthday. I debated going to my meeting, but decided that the chances were extremely slim (hee!) that anyone was going to give me any cake, so I said the hell with it and stayed home. So as not to be a complete slacker, I weighed myself on my bathroom scale. I had no idea how accurate my scale is, and was therefore delighted to discover that by its very low standards of accuracy, I had lost six pounds. My jeans knew that this was obviously a big lie, bu I played along. I didn't want to injure my scale's self-esteem. And anyway, happy birthday to me, right?
This brings us up to today. I bit the bullet, went to my meeting, and got weighed. I weighed 175, which is 1.4 pounds less than the Wednesday after Thanksgiving, and is actually pretty good, considering that for weeks now, I haven't been tracking my points or working out or doing much of anything except charging around singing Christmas music--at least, when I'm not busy putting our lives back together in our new, post-renovation house.
Or getting ready for Christmas. Which--OK--all I've done is trim the tree and get cards, but still.
But anyway, there you have it. I'm still fat, but not as whale-like as I was in August, when this adventure began.
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