So, yesterday I was talking about all the fat. And how sometimes I'm okay with that. And sometimes I like to pretend that I am a dainty fragile flower. Only I don't think I mentioned that yesterday.
I was remembering a time when I decided to fight all the fat. I was going to stand up to it and tell it who was boss. I was going to tell that fat it was no longer welcome here.
So I joined a gym.
And I went.
And I weighed myself.
Or I tried to.
The regular scale that I knew how to work was broken, so I had to get on the cattle scale. Which really probably wasn't a cattle scale, since it was in a gym and all, but whatever. That's what it looked like.
There were a few older ladies and gentleman standing around the scale. The senior citizens water aerobics class had just ended, and they were all enjoying a few minutes of conversation before they hit the weights.
So I stepped up on that scale, trying desperately to hide the readout (which, of course, I couldn't even find) when one of the ladies said, "You have to put some weight on the other side to balance." She then proceeded to put the weights on for me. They looked like mini versions of the big, flat, circular weights that go on the long poles. Obviously I am a gym rat, but I digress.
So Helpful Lady put on what she thought was enough weight to balance the scales. Then, quite loudly, proclaimed to the world that, "OH! I didn't realize you were that heavy! I need to put a few more of these on here!"
Now that I was clearly in need of a good workout, and in a fat-fighting frame of mind, I headed to the treadmill.
AS IF, that was not bad enough, Helpful Lady walked around the gym, from friend to friend (I'm sure she informed perfect strangers as well, after all, she is Helpful Lady) telling everyone just how much weight she had to put on there. And, "Really! She's that heavy! She doesn't look that heavy to me! Does she look that heavy to you?"
Thanks, Helpful Lady.