The back-handed compliment

Oh where to begin? Let's just say that after a night of binging on pepperoni pizza and onion rings, I found myself at a Weight Watchers meeting last Saturday. I had a real taste as to what it would be like to be an addict. OK, let's get real. I am an addict...a food addict. And the only support group I rely on is Weight Watchers. So that's exactly where I headed first thing in the morning after my saturated fat and carb bender to get control of my out-of-control eating.

I have joined Weight Watchers approximately 17.45 million times. I try to nod my head politely as the "mentors" go through counting points, weighing food, making good choices,etc. I try not to point out how much has changed since I first joined way back in 1988...and honestly, not that much has changed, not even my weight.

So, as I stepped up to the counter to make my enrollment official, the sweet lady behind the counter asked me sincerely, "Are you sure that you weigh 138 pounds? If you don't you can't join today."

I should probably add here that I am 5'11" and not "small boned" AT ALL. 138 would make me look like Heidi Klum...and let's be really clear, I don't.

This sweet little, and probably senile, lady was worried that I didn't weigh enough to join Weight Watchers. HA!

"uhhh...yes I am sure." I said, trying not to laugh in her face at her obvious sight problems. Blindness maybe?

I then proceeded to step on the scale.

As the lovely, senile, blind, and now suffering from turrets woman behind the counter looked at my weight (only seen by her) she then gasps, stands on her tip toes to peer over the counter and looks me up and down about 10 times.

"Yes you do." she says. "I should have looked closer. If I had looked closer I can definitely tell you weigh enough. You certainly do."

Uh, thanks. I think?