I was hesitant to step to the scale, but not enough to keep me from it. The numbers read 212, but what they said “there is nothing you are incapable of when you believe.” In the 21 weeks since I began dieting, I’m two pounds away from having dropped a total of 50 pounds, and I haven’t been this weight since I was 19 years old.
Damn but don’t I want a Foster’s Freeze vanilla dip cone right about now! But before I go (noooo, not to Foster’s… to tennis!), let me tell you the story about these pants:
I love these pants. Had them several years. They used to fit when I first bought ’em, then I outgrew them laterally, then in 2003 when I biked 2,200 miles that year they were too big (though not near as big as this) and from then on I started filling them back up until the day — or night rather — last year that they almost made me cry when I should’ve been laughing. See a group of us blogger types and spouses/significant others got together to go see Wil Wheaton doing some sketch/improv comedy at the Acme Theater on La Brea. These pants and a light sweater had been my go-to night-out outfit for awhile, but man my girth had become such that I’d finally achieved the breaking point. In other words, I couldn’t button them if I wanted to breath at all that evening. Even unbuttoned, they were reaaaaalllly snug, but I was resigned to just suffer he indignity.
We get there and Wil and his fellow comic actors are fun and funny, but all the while I’m sitting in my seat up in the back hating my uncomfortable self as I try to keep my gut sucked in enough between guffaws so the zipper — the primary means of pant suspension and retention — stays in its full and upright position instead of screaming southbound.
Needless to say at the end of the performance despite plans for the group to hang out with Wil, I’d been reduced to a self-loathing anti-socialite and I couldn’t get my fat ass out of there fast enough, if for no other reason than to get home and get these pants off and hung up in the back of the closet never to see the light of day again, or at least until the next time I would be forced to endure such personal and private humiliation.
Never again. And thank gawd the only thing I have to consider now is whether they’re worth taking to the tailor for shrinking.
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