Yes, I’m pleased to say that the scales have fallen from my eyes. Earlier on today I would have liked another type of scales to have fallen… out through our bathroom window! Those nasty new scales have been making me feel bad about myself for about three weeks now; why today I felt so ugly that I didn’t even bother to put on any makeup until I went to Zumba class this evening, and then it was only a little eyeliner and lipstick (just in case I ran into Brian at the Leisure Centre, which I didn’t).
Outwardly, I have been protesting that the new scales are wrong – about six pounds, the wrong way – but inside my normal-sized and attractive body the ugly fat girl trying to get out has been gaining ground (and possibly weight). She has been nagging me with questions like, “What if those scales really are right?” and “Has my bottom got bigger?” She keeps urging me to buy big clothes and she’s even tried to induce me to wear comfy stretchy jogging pants out shopping – “Who will notice under your coat?” she asked rather convincingly. Luckily, I had read in the paper recently that French women (reputedly the most stylish women in the world) “never wear sweat-pants” (I guess sweat-pants are the same as jogger pants). You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve taken off jogger pants and forced myself into tight jeans, only for the shopping excursions, of course, (Chris isn’t as critical as the shopping public, or at least, the French public).
Even dressing for Zumba was something of a trial: should I wear figure-hugging lycra and, if so, should I wear long legged pants or ones that end at the knee? Those scales on my eyes affected my vision in the full-length mirror on the bedroom wall and, after many try-ons, I decided upon some thin stretchy black sports trousers and a black top (to make me look slimmer). It all took time, I was going to be late for Zumba – perhaps I shouldn’t go – the class would notice my weight gain; I would look better next time, after seven days of starvation. But I love Zumba…
I wasn’t that late.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I apologised.
“No problem, we’re still warming up,” the pretty blonde welcomed me with a lovely smile.
It was a rainy dark night, which usually means a poor attendance. It was a small class – my appearance brought it up to nine – and each and every lady greeted me at some point with a welcoming smile. The session was great: we danced Bollywood style, we did the salsa, we mamboed, we belly danced – we even did “River Dance”. I loved it. And after the class I went to the gym and ran well over one and a half kilometres in ten minutes on the cross-country machine.
With a little trepidation I stepped on the scales in the gym … Well, I’m not going to tell you what they said but I can tell you that I was exactly the same weight as I was a month ago, before we bought our horrible new scales. Perhaps I won’t starve myself after all – suddenly I feel so much better about myself.