I went to see my doctor the other day for my 6 month check up. We have a pretty good rapport and I've been a patient of hers for over 15 years. She agreed to keep me on as a patient even though I sold my home and left the area. I come back to the area twice a year and check in with her, get blood work done, etc. It's a good relationship.
She never yells at me to lose weight, even though I know that would make her happy, and of course, be the greatest thing for me. So the morning of my doctor's appointment I go through a routine to weigh the least amount of weight.
1. Shower (Check)
2. Clean out ears (Check)
3. Cut toe nails (Check)
4. Clean out belly button (Check)
5. Take off all jewelry(including big rock of a
diamond ring) (Check)
6. I must be dreaming – diamond isn’t big, put back on (Check)
7. Weigh myself naked, holding breath (Check)
8. Weigh myself naked, breathing (Check)
9. Weigh myself naked, crying (Check)
10. Take the average of the 3 weights, divide by 2,
find perfect weight (Check)(Swear)
11. Decide the clothes I am wearing by weighing each article (Check)
Did I mention that I try to eat foods that will, um, "empty" me so I weigh less? Yeah. I can't skip breakfast, or I shouldn't because I'm diabetic, but it's crossed my mind.
Anyhoo, did you ever have a tic suddenly appear somewhere on you body? It's not bad when it's on your arm or something, but when it's on, say, YOUR FACE, it's not a good thing. I've had a tic under my left eye for a few days now. Have no idea why. At least if it were the eyelid, I'd look like I were winking at someone, like a Sarah Palin wannabe.
But, alas, the tic is underneath, so I look like a freakazoid. Luckily my glasses cover it up some, or maybe it magnifies it. Yikes! And,yes, my nose was whistling, too. Nice. So I'm looking like an escapee from a freak show at the circus.
The first thing they do to you when you enter the doctor's office is what? WEIGH YOU. The scale is usually in the hall for all the world to see. But what's this? The nurse is leading me directly to a room. Can it be that they just don't care what I weigh any more? I say a silent pray to Budda that this is true. The nurse points to the room and says the dreaded words, "I'm going to have to get your weight here, if you'll step on the scale." Dun,dun, dun.
"Can you wait while I take off my clothes?" I say half-kiddingly.
The nurse doesn't even crack a smile. Oookay.
I obviously don't know when to shut up.
"Well, at least the scale is in the room. I always wanted to strip even when it was in the hallway!" I laugh. Nothing.
I at least take off my shoes because they've GOT to weigh 50 lbs, right? (I'm Italian - there's got to be cement in there somewhere.) I lumber over to the scale. Take a deep sigh. One foot. Step. Other foot. Step. At least the scale didn't say "TILT". Then the nurse says,"I want to take your height." She measures me at 5' 4 1/2 inches. It is official. I AM SHRINKING. So apparently those mirrors in the trailer that I think are defected because they look like circus mirrors are in fact for real.
I really AM short and fat. DAMN! I try to convince the nurse to write down my height as 6 ft tall so I'd be the right weight, but it's a no go.
My doctor finally comes in and asks me how I am doing.
"Well, doc," I whistle, my eye ticking, "it's like this." And I go on to explain my latest problem. But I don't seem to have her full attention. She's gazing outside to see if the circus came to town.