As this
blog is about honesty, I’ll start by being honest and saying my hopes for when
I get on the scales this week are pretty low. I moved house on Sunday and as
most of my possessions have been in boxes, I have frequented one too many
takeaway houses over the weekend, enjoying both Chinese and a curry, which has
been washed down with a Tequila beer.
Looking at it in a positive way at least
I’ll know where my weight gain will have come from. I hate it when you’ve been
good all week and somehow manage to put weight on.
In another bid to tell you
the truth, I enjoyed the takeaway food immensely; it seemed the perfect reward
for sweating my ass off moving house on what was probably the hottest day of
the year so far!
If you’ve never been to a fat club meeting
before then they basically work like this; you turn up get weighed and then
there’s a meeting, where the leader gives you advice on ways you can cut down
on your calorie intake or boost the exercise you do. They are in no way like a
Marjorie Dawes sketch from “Little Britain”
The
meeting I go to is great it’s full of women - Mums and slightly bonkers older
ladies. There’s always a tale to tell and if we weren’t on the straight and
narrow food wise, I get the feeling we’d probably all sit round having a brew
and eating a Victoria sponge made by Marion. In all seriousness, I normally
come away feeling quite inspired and with a list of things I can eat that I didn't know were quite low in points (Oreos are only a point a biscuit
& they’re my favourite)
Last week, one lady was telling the class how
she’d had to go to the doctors and he’d told her she was “grossly overweight”,
when she’d told him she’d already lost 2 stone and was committed to the Weight
Watchers plan he had apparently ignored her and shrugged his shoulders. The
whole class was in uproar, how very dare he say something so cruel and not
commend her on her efforts so far. To put this into perspective this lady was a
size 14 / 16, so she looked pretty good. Together the class was united in our
distaste for this man. Had he been there, I felt he would have been marched to
the front of the class and forced to stand on a box to explain himself. We would have jeered him and thrown rotten fruit at him (the stuff we’d all bought with the
intention of being good and eating throughout the week, but had gone off
because we’d decided chocolate was more fun)
As we offered our support, a voice piped up. It was the font of knowledge and wisdom that is Karen, with her hair dyed 50
shades of red in leggings that stretched a little too far and a t-shirt
displaying 4 boob syndrome, she said “isn’t it best to be honest?” Her
statement filled the class, her words hanging in the air like a secret fart in
a lift. We all stopped our shouts of support and had the doctor really been
stood there at the front of the class on that box with our rotten fruit
dripping down his furrowed brow, that would have been the point he thought he
would have been saved.
However as we all turned to look at Karen,
collectively we decided to ignore her, which with Karen really is the best
policy.
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