The scale and I are not friends. We have a hate/hate relationship. Pretty much always, but especially since I have gained, and subsequently lost some weight. Problem is, it's not enough, so I just stopped looking. Dave is very nice about saying I look skinny, but he always thinks I should see how much I weigh because he thinks I'd be happy to see a smaller number. Problem is, it's usually NEVER smaller. So, I just don't weigh.
This weekend, however, I decided I was going to see if I could fit my fat ass into a pair of jeans that I hadn't tried to put on in over a year. My favorite jeans with the entire right knee perfectly blown out. So, I laid them on the bed, looked at them, walked away, came back, and walked away again completely afraid of failure to fit. So, I waited until Dave was in the shower to try them on. After all, I did not want to have any spectators at my failure party! So, I shimmied them up past the thighs, over the hips, and over the ass. And, they buttoned! And I wasn't dying to breathe!!! Success, right!! Dave got out of the shower, saw my accomplishment and said, did you weigh?? Ummm, nope! Not that brave.
But today I did, and I'm up 2 pounds. But do the pounds really matter? I am at a healthy weight for my medium framed, 5'9 body. And my favorite jeans fit again. :)
I did get to thinking though... If my lbs were like money, I would only weigh like 90 £s, and what a difference that WOULD make!!!