Brie gets the biggest kick out of this story from years ago so this one's for her!
Her Majesty and I both had a doctor’s appointment the same
morning: hers fifteen minutes before mine so we went in together. She stepped on the scale and she had gained a
couple of pounds but that wasn’t bad, considering prior to this she had lost
almost forty. She had her follow-up and
then it was my turn to get weighed. I
was so busy yakking with the nurse that I didn’t pay any attention to what the
scale said. When we went back into the
examining room, Kitty snuck a look at my chart and then whispered to me, “You
weigh 338 pounds.” “WHAT??!” I
yelped. “I most certainly do NOT weigh
338 pounds!” “Yes you do.” “No I don’t!”
“Yes you do; it says so right on the paper.” “Girlie, I don’t know what number you were
looking at, but if it said 338 it wasn’t my weight.” To this she replied nonchalantly, “Maybe they
were twos, maybe they were threes, and maybe they were fives.” So she thought I weighed 558 pounds???
This isn’t the first time a child of mine has gotten my
weight wrong. Years ago Robin, Brie and I were weighing ourselves. I was a
little self-conscious about what I might weigh so I didn’t want anyone to
see. I thought I had shielded the number
with my foot but Brie piped up, “Mom weighs 218!” “I do not!”
“Yes you do. I saw it!” “No I don’t!”
Of course at the time maybe I did, or maybe I didn’t, but
I didn’t need her little eight-year-old butt announcing it to the world, to the
giggling delight of my sister!
Why it is that my family likes to make it seem like I’m
totally disproportionate as a person?
I’m big-boned, five feet ten inches tall and I work out which doesn’t
make me skinny but keeps me strong and healthy.
Yet if I do some laundry and hang the non-dryer items at my parents’
house (because I don’t have a clothesline where I live) my clothes get inspected
like alien fallout!
For instance, about fifteen years ago I had a pair of sailor
jeans that were trendy at the time (or maybe just to me). I didn’t want to put them in the dryer so I
hung them up on Marie's clothesline. Along
comes Clancy an hour later, looks out the window and starts laughing. “Whose giant pants are those?” he
chortled. I glowered at him. “They’re mine. I don’t know what you’re laughing at because
they’re a smaller size than yours!” “Not
by much!”
No matter what it is, they always act like I’m bigger than a
sideshow attraction. And please don’t
let me hang up an item of intimate apparel!
I can hang it in the most secret place at Marie's, but someone will find
it, hold it up and say, “Whose big granny grunts are these?” Seriously: no one makes you feel unsexier than your siblings!
Brie: you're welcome! Always at my expense...
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