When I was looking for Christmas lights last week in the storage unit, I accidentally found the bathroom scale. It was wrapped in a towel, at the bottom of a box full of linens. I thought, Oh, Steve will be thrilled because he’s been wondering where it was and threatening to buy a new one ever since we moved.
At first, he was happy.
“Yay! You found the scale! Thank you!”
Fast forward three days. Steve says, “I need you to take the scale back.”
“What?”
“It’s not good. I was happier before I knew how much I weighed.”
“Why, how much do you weigh?”
“None of your business.”
“Is it more than (insert number here)?”
“No!”
The discussion then moved on to all the people we know that weigh more than him and after a while he felt better. Crisis averted.
But weight! There’s more!
Frankly, I was of two minds whether to bring it back at all. It’s been nice not knowing how much I weigh for a whole year. Right up until someone told me, which, in this case, happened at the doctor’s office, during my yearly exam. “167,” the nurse said. Later she asked me if I was feeling depressed and I told her, “Hell yes I’m depressed! Did you not see that I now weigh 167 pounds?”
How I used to do it
It was right about then I knew I needed to re-think my weight management tactics. Up until now, I’ve always used two basic methods to keep track of how I’m doing. One is the How Well Do My Jeans Fit (HWDMJF) test and the other is the Pee My Pants (PMP) test.
The HWDMJF test works like this. I buy a single brand and size of jeans, and for me those are Gloria Vanderbilt, size 14. When I can no longer get into them, I know it’s time to cut back on my food intake and up my daily exercise time. Simple.
The PMP test is simple, too. If I accidentally pee my pants while either a. laughing, or b. sneezing, then I know it’s time to drop some poundage.
Except the last two pair of GV jeans that I brought home were really loose on me. So loose, I had to go back and buy a belt to keep the crotch from tripping me while I walk. I know for a fact that I’ve never been larger in my life than I am right now. So this means that some time between the last time I bought blue jeans, probably 2014, and last month, Gloria Vanderbilt made their size 14 jeans bigger. This means that I can no longer rely on Gloria to keep me informed about a weight overage, damn her.
Which leaves only the PMP test, and, of course, the problem with the PMP test is it relies on damp underwear to work.
There’s a new test in town
I know there’s a better way, and likely it will rely heavily on numbers. Facts and figures, along with being told what to do by inanimate objects, like bathroom scales and calorie counting apps, are some of my least favorite things in the world. I’d rather believe in the fantasy that allows for things like bonbons for breakfast and a second beer at dinner and fifteen minute walks with the dogs to keep my weight under control.
But there comes a time in a girl’s life when she has to stop living in a dream world and grow up. For me, that time is discovering that I’m 57 years old and weigh 167 pounds. So I’m hereby putting myself on notice. No more PMP or HWDMJF tests. From now on, it’s the SOTSAFTF (Stand On The Scale And Face The Facts) test or nothing.
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I don’t believe the doctor’s scales, because that’s done with all my clothes and shoes on. The good part is that I clock in as taller than I used to be when I was in high school. And you’re right about the increasing sizes in clothes. Unfortunately, for men’s clothes an inch is still an inch.
You’re so lucky! I’m pretty sure I’m shrinking top to bottom at the same time as I’m growing side to side.
That post made me snort my coffee. I am feeling ya, baby. I was 160, at one point, many moons ago. I blame the spandex they are putting into all the women’s jeans. I hate that shit. This last year was pretty stressfull for you, so the weight ends up going one way or the other. Whittle by whittle, it will come off, not to worry.
I’m down a few already since the doctor’s visit, but man, for a minute there I was ready to walk out into traffic. But we’re more than the sum of our pounds, aren’t we? I’m holding onto that thought.
You are right about the clothing size thing. It’s been going on for awhile now. Why is the clothing industry doing this? Somehow it comes down to $$, always does.
Who doesn’t want to believe they fit into a smaller size than they thought? It’s brilliant, really. I’d love to be able to say I was wearing size 12 jeans but it’s like cheating at solitaire. I’d only be fooling myself.