Wednesday, September 1, 2010

His Name Is Fat

I have a friend named, Fat. He thinks he is my boyfriend because he is always hanging around. Last night I dreamed I lost Fat, but I woke up and Fat is still with me. Fat is attached to me like glue in your shoe and cannot leave me. I feel so loved. Fat loves me so much. There is a major problem. I do not care for Fat. He hangs around me at all time. He makes me physically tired. I wish Fat would just get lost.
I have joined Weight Watchers so many times I think they may have considered nailing my name on the door. It’s a place that has weekly meetings and they always have you step on the scale. Fat always went with me to the meetings, and would step on the scale with me. After the weighing-in of us dreamers, they would hold a meeting. First they would call out everybody’s name and announce which ones had a weight loss so everybody could applaud them. The ones that had no weight loss would always turn a bright green-with-envy color. I had a permanent green neon glow about me. I always envied all the ones that had success.

My sister-in-law, Marge, actually wore a paper dress to one of the meetings so she would weigh less. That is a true story, Wayne and Rita. (In case you read this) They couldn’t even conduct a proper meeting that time because they couldn’t get past the paper dress issue. It just wasn’t fair to the rest of us. It really was hilarious. Fat has been through a lot of ups and downs, but always hanging on for dear life.

One time we went to a hypnosis meeting. I guess that is what it was called. I think Fat really enjoyed that one. He just snuggled up to me as we went through the relaxing and breathing in and out. Is there any other way to breathe? That was an absolute waste of time and expectations. Not a single thing was gained by attending that farce and nothing lost by it either.
Back in the years before drugs became so fashionable, the doctors would give you diet pills that actually worked. Not only did they cut off the appetite they sped you up like a rocket headed for the moon. You could clean the house from top to bottom, mow the lawn, trim the trees in the backyard, and haul the branches to the dump without the aid of a truck of course. You had an unlimited amount of refills on the prescription. Life was fun back then until the doctor noticed that Fat was no longer hanging around, he decided the pills were no longer needed.

I gave up on all those gimmicks. I once asked the doctor if he thought I had an under active thyroid. He didn’t think so, but said I might have an over active fork. The doctors today have no sympathy for you. Their advice is to start eating the right kind of food and get your butt off of the recliner and walk around the block a couple times. I just can’t get Fat to cooperate with me so it isn’t my fault that I can’t lose him. Fat is in the cartoon looking on.