The Weighting Game

Oh so many moons ago, when I was living in Virginia, I won an honorable mention in a poetry contest. The subject of my poem was weight control. I decided to attend the award festivities, so I asked my friend Judie if she'd like to come with.

Farewell, my lovelies...

She obliged.

The evening was joyful and unique. As I recall, there was a dinner and a lot of awards, and they read each of the entries aloud. The crowd was predominantly older. (Okay, a lot of them were octogenarians.) But they were all so delightful, I still have warm memories of my then-30-something self participating in the magical night.

What strikes me now is that I wrote a poem about weight loss. I scoff. I really didn't need to worry about losing a lot of weight at that time in my life. Maybe I was just being prescient.

In any case, I've decided I've had it with feeling like a stuffed sausage, avoiding mirrors and huffing and puffing after climbing two flights of stairs.

It's time to take back my life! No, seriously, I mean it this time.

So, why publicly declare my intentions? Part of my master plan involves shame. If I tell all of you that my goal is to drop weight, maybe you will raise an eyebrow when you see my hand reaching for that luscious Boston cream donut. Or you'll gently clear your throat when I make more than one trip to the Tupperware container with the fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. (For the record, I only had one yesterday.)

I realize that ultimately it's up to me to drop the pounds. I will feel better and look better and all of that. And no one else is responsible for my weight.

 But sometimes, it takes a village to save an idiot from herself.

So, please, won't you help? One look, one tsk tsk is all it takes.

I thank you.