I'm allergic to many foods. Soon after eating them, I break out in fat. My husband can eat anything he wants and not gain an ounce. I deeply resent him for that. I don't think he ever heard the word "calorie" before meeting me. But his lack of knowledge in this area often works to my advantage. He'll watch me wolf down a bucket of Breyer's then two days later, when I cry, "I don't understand. I don't understand. I do everything right and still I gain weight," he sympathizes and explains that everyone's metabolism is different and I shouldn't be so hard on myself.
When I started Weight Watchers I told everyone I knew that this time I would lose the weight. This time I was confident and highly motivated. Then, one morning I opened the fridge, reached for my usual cottage cheese and blueberries and discovered something was wrong. Something was missing. My motivation had disappeared. I ran to my bedroom, checked under my bed and rummaged through dresser drawers and closets. I even looked in the shower. Incredible as it seems, my motivation had totally and completely vanished.
Shortly thereafter, I ran into a friend who asked how I was doing on my diet.
"I lost ten pounds in ten days and kept it off for an entire ten minutes," I said. "Sorry you missed it."
There have been several times in my life when revealing my weight was essential. Once was when I was with two friends boarding a plane that was so small passengers were asked submit their weight to the flight attendant before boarding. We stopped in our tracks and looked like we'd just been caught in the closet with Ben and Jerry. We didn't know what to do -- tell the humiliating truth, or lie and be responsible for killing a plane full of people.
We agreed to let everyone die.
Once the plane took off we realized that we would be included in the death toll so we beckoned the flight attendant and confessed. To our surprise, we were told that fifty pounds is automatically tacked on to whatever number women give their weight.
Recently, my arthritis has become increasingly worse, so we ordered a chair lift to make it easier for me to get up the stairs from the garage level to the first floor. Chair lifts come with different weight carrying limitations. I wanted one that could safely hold the maximum weight, allowing for any future weight gain I may have. Mighty Marc told me I was crazy.
"Even if you carry several bags of groceries on your lap it'll never come to 350 pounds," he said.
"But... but... what if I load up on canned goods, a five pound bag of sugar and ten pounds of potatoes, all at the same time?" I pleaded. "I'd feel compelled to toss one potato up the stairs at a time, rather than chance carrying them all at once. And, what if...?"
"It's not gonna' happen," he insisted.
I gave in. He's probably right, but I live in fear of becoming a humiliating headline: WOMAN GAMBLES WITH DEATH, IN VAIN ATTEMPT TO CONCEAL WEIGHT FROM HUSBAND. In a bizarre accident yesterday, Laverne H. Bardy was found spread eagled on her basement floor after tumbling and crashing from a chair lift that was unable to carry both her and her groceries up a flight of stairs. As paramedics removed potatoes from her face, her husband questioned how this could possibly happen since the chair was built to carry 350 pounds and his wife only weighs 120. Bardy had no comment.