Ballet at the scale

The hubs and I are doing Weight Watchers with delightful success so far. We each have more than 50 pounds to lose and seem to be losing at the same rate, which is fortunate for him. If he was losing faster than I was, my nose would be out of joint, big time, and might require gifts of jewelry and fine leather goods to get straightened out again.

With only the two of us in the house, meals and snacks are easy. No one is slobbering down a big bowl of Bunny Tracks ice cream while I’m having a handful of baby carrots. When we go out to eat, we’re both interested in going someplace listed in our “Dining Out Guide” and we keep each other from super-sizing. It’s all good.

I commented the other day that I was looking forward to getting thin enough to be able to read the scale without contorting myself around my belly and boobs.

He said he doesn’t bother with contortions. He just hops off real fast and reads the screen before the numbers fade.

Chubby naked dude leaps nimbly from scale, bends quickly to peer at vanishing display.

If you knew that sort of activity was going on in your bathroom, wouldn’t you have to see it? I’m thinking it’s worth the disgusted look I’ll receive when I’m caught spying. It's even worth the jewelry and fine leather goods it might take to get his nose straightened out.