My shoes weigh five pounds

I think I have finally figured out this whole difference-thing between men and women. Ya know, besides the whole penis and vagina thing.

I was at the gym today and I was watching these two guys weigh themselves on one of those doctor scales. After they weighed themselves they just left it there. They didn’t move the numbers back to zero. There it was: their actual weight right there for everyone in the whole gym to see. They didn’t seem to care. Seriously. It baffled me.

When I weigh myself (which I have stopped doing, by the way, but we’ll get to that in a sec) I bring a gigantic black drape and hang it around the entire weighing area, then slowly I get on the scale. I then calculate all the things I can take off from the final weigh-in number. Ya know, like when was the last time I poo-ed and if my shoes are on (some are heavier than others. If they are my snake skin boots, forget it. That would be at least five pounds I could deduct) and how much under-wire weighs. Plus the gigantic black drape I am hiding under to weigh myself has got to be at least three more pounds to deduct. Weighing myself is seriously one of the only times I am really good at math. Well, that and when I have to take 25% off of the clearance rack at Loehmanns. Then before I even get off the scale I put all of the numbers back to zero. I check to make sure there are no fingerprints or smudges on the actual numbers I had moved the bar too, just in case. I then either smile and eat a cookie cuz I can or I pout and then eat a cookie because I am now depressed.

Most men just eat cookies because they feel like eating a cookie.

Then there is the pool. That is just a place of…well…interesting choices. If you have really good self esteem and are not totally bikini ready, yet feel the need to wear a bikini then good for you. I applaud you. You rock.

But seriously, men who are like, forty pounds overweight in a Speedo? Seriously? Do I really need to see that? Do my children really need to see that? You watch most women at the pool and they are sucking it in for all its worth. (I didn’t mean that to sound dirty.) Men just let it hang out. (Wow, seriously, I am not even trying to make that sound dirty) Sometimes I think that unless you are a fabulous gay man, you will not really be concerned by your swim suited body. Unless you are a women who doesn’t need therapy, you will just not breathe while pool side. Because when I am in a bikini, there is some serious judgment going on. Well, at least inside my head.

This is depressing me and now I want a cookie.

This summer my schedule was different (and very, very long) from my regular schedule with work and hauling children places and I couldn’t find time to work out. It sucked. All of the anxiety I have in life I like to work off on the treadmill and trust me, there is a lot to work off; but this summer I couldn’t get my ever growing ass to the gym to get on the treadmill so I ate to make the anxiety feel better. Because you know that totally worked. So now I am ten pounds heavier and trying distractedly to get back on a schedule and trying desperately to not eat sugar and trying frenetically not to add stress about my weight gain to my list of things to be frenetic and anxious about. Ya know?

When you lose seventy pounds and gain some back it is a bit aggravating to deal with. I haven’t gotten on a scale since July and now the scale at the gym just glares at me when I walk by. I know what it is thinking too. It is totally judging me and laughing quietly. Stupid scale. Why do you have to be so mean? You’re just a stupid machine! Oh, wait. Then it couldn’t judge me. Ya know, unless it was a transformer. Well, all I know is that there is some serious judgment going on. Well, at least inside my head.

It is hard enough to date as it is. I don’t need to deal with the exasperating question of whether I should wear Spanx or not on a date under my clothes to smooth me out. They may hold you all in and make you look fabulous and non-squishy and jello-y, but then you have to think about if these Spanx were ever to be taken off of your squishy and jello-y body, what then would you look like? Could I really hold my stomach in for that long?

Again, some serious judgment going on here. Yes, just inside my head.

Seriously, I still want a cookie…