I made my not-so-triumphant return to Weight Watchers tonight. (To add insult to injury, I'm going with my mom. I know that out of all the people on this planet, she will be the one to call me a lardass when I try to weasel out of going.) I had a feeling that I was back to my original "weight situation" before I weighed in, but I was one whole pound off. Woot. And then Mr. Weight Watcher gave me a brand new card, because "why not start over?" Yeah, why not.
I think the only reason I'm back in this "situation" is because I went on a honeymoon and left my self-control at home. Also, I am a glutton. Part of me keeps telling myself, "great job, you caved in, and now you're finally going to de-fat yourself again, and then when you cave in to pressure again, you'll see what happens..." I really hope my heart appreciates my fluctuating weight for what it could be, not what it is. I found a ROLL on my ribs the other day. A ROLL. That officially delineates my torso into THREE DISTINCT LEVELS. But I am finally mad/ashamed/annoyed/lethargic/crappy feeling enough to really do something about it. Again.
I was feeling pretty stupid, as usual, for clapping everytime someone said that they crapped away a pound, but then this really pretty girl stood up and said that she had made goal. And I thought, "that's great, but you're skinny. Either sit down or gimme a low-point brownie recipe." But then she said that she had lost 129 pounds in a year, including a 3 month plateau. For a moment I was really inspired.
And then I really hated her. But only in a jealous way.
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Don't be too hard on yourself. Food is one of the three great pleasures in life. I will let you figure out what the other two are.
And if your mother calls you a lardass, tell her you inherited it from her.
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