
Now I was fully dressed...including my coat. and boots. That's gotta count for at least two pounds. Right?
TG had a swim meet yesterday. On the way out, I stopped and jumped on a scale near the exit doors.
A brief breakdown on me and scales: I don’t own one. And I don’t believe in them. If I go to the doctor, I’ll jump on and see what it says. If I’m at my mom’s house and I wash my hands, I’ll get on the scale in her bathroom and check.
My weight doesn’t fluctuate too wildly. And I’m not a slave to the number. I pay closer attention to how my clothes fit. When the jeans get a bit tight or hard to button, I know it’s time to tighten things up.
So. I get on the scale yesterday. And I am very unhappy with the number staring back at me.




