watching it...

A sad confession I will make: I have been watching it for several weeks. Got to the point that the waistband on my pants would not button, and I was feeling a bit inflated, so I knew it was time to start back to Weight Watchers. I had been telling myself since early in the year, actually probably after Thanksgiving, that it was tragic, but necessary, to 'bite the bullet' instead of all those other things I have been enjoying.

Then along comes Christmas, and you tell yourself: might as well wait until Jan. to get back on the wagon. Then along comes January and you tell yourself: you don't want to go in there when all those other people who overindulged and made fluffy promises in the form of New Years' Resolutions are going to be clogging up the doorway. Then along comes all the chocolate temptations associated with the middle of February. Then it's getting warmer, almost time for thinking about wearing shorts, knowing swim suit season will soon follow. So you tell yourself: 'get on with it'. Then comes Easter, with all the chocolate bunnies hopping down the bunny trail.  And people who persist in giving you malted milk eggs you don't want to eat - but can't put in the trash. Then: it really is summer, and work pants are not the only thing that you can't squeeze the waistband together on. So: buy shorts with elastic waist. Problem solved!

I really did start back to WW several weeks ago, and have been pretty diligent. Feeling miserably guilty when I backslide. And say to myself as I am sinning: don't put that in your mouth. But occasionally do it any way. Though most of the time I can rationalize and say: "I do not want that (fill in the blank) getting on the scales with me when I have to go back and weigh in next week."

I was talking to a friend recently who said that he had a lot of pants that 'don't fit any more', and was thinking of donating to a thrift shop. Then suddenly realized it was not the pants that had, while hanging in the closet, mysteriously changed sizes.... but not yet quite ready to admit that he enjoys eating too much to face the reality of never being the same size as the pants again.

So, back up there to the opening sentence, where I make a distasteful confession: I have discovered, much to my dismay that my historically agreeable waist line has begun to creep up. It seems to be a couple of inches north of where I remember last seeing it. Which I guess explains why the waistband of the work pants (even with a bit of elastic in the waist) doesn't seem to care about meeting in the middle any more. I am nearly certain I do not care to buy more pants just for the pleasure of attending employment, I will persue this option of checking in at the scale every week (for a fee of nearly $10 per wk.)