I had to break from routine yesterday for a visit to my doctor. It was just a yearly physical, but since it's been five years since my last yearly physical, I thought I should probably keep this appointment. It got off to an alarming start when I stepped on the scale and the nurse called out my weight. Loudly. "196 pounds!" 196?!
My response, and I quote: "Holy crap! You're kidding."
The nurse assured me that's what the scale said. A number a good 30 pounds over what I just told the DMV they should put on my driver's license. But then the receptionist offered these encouraging words, "Don't worry. That thing is way off."
Ah, good. That made me feel better. Until I realized that means my doctor knowingly uses a scale that makes his patients feel like ginormous, fatty fats. What's up with that? Some sort of cruel psychological experiment designed to rattle those with low self-esteem?
My doctor is one of the kindest people I've ever met, so I can't quite see that. Maybe he's trying to gently nudge his patients towards exercising and eating right. If so, time to reevaluate. I stopped by the grocery store on the way home and picked up a couple pints of Haagen-Dazs. Midnight Cookies and Cream. Oh, sweet chocolate-soother of shattered self-esteem! (If you click on the link, don't look at the nutritional facts. Just don't. Haagen-Dazs is for eating, not reading!)
Honestly, if I'm shooting for a new target weight and starting at 196 pounds, 200 is a lot easier to hit than 165. Thank you, Haagen-Dazs. You make changing weight so easy! Provided you don't care about terms like "gain" or "loss."
Okay -- now it's back to work on choosing my Batter Box Project. I've whittled the top 20 down to the most likely 9. Time to concentrate on more whittling. And to sticking to my new, cream-based diet.