My wardrobe has changed since I lost my job of 25+ years and the one item with which I have been most glad to be finished is pantyhose. Over the last couple of years I had noticed that no one was wearing pantyhose anymore. This is fine if you are twenty something and tan nicely but as a fifty-something woman of Irish decent, I was not about to show up in the office with my blinding-white bare legs. Well, since my position has been eliminated I no longer have to worry about appearing out-of-touch with the latest fashion trend. As a matter of fact my wardrobe has been pretty much reduced to tee shirts and sweatpants. (FYI: I never wear sweatpants outside of the house other than to walk to the mailbox, I always upgrade to a pair of jeans.) But now here is the problem: Pantyhose always let me know when I had put on a pound or two, sweatpants keep it a secret.
After seven months of hanging around the house in sweatpants, I stepped on the bathroom scale to discover I had gained six pounds. Yes, I had seen the numbers slowly creeping up but my scale is digital and those things just aren’t all that reliable. I could gain or lose a pound just by moving my feet two inches to the left. I had noted as well that the roll around my middle seemed a bit fuller than before but wrote it off to faulty memory and menopause. It was not until a friend took a picture of me that reality set in: My scale was not lying, the sweatpants were.
I have always been quite disciplined so when I decided to lose the six pounds, I was all in. Midafternoon snack, gone. Extra serving of rice with dinner, gone. Cookies, gone. Well, this all came as quite a shock to my stomach which was used to its snacks and cookies and it began to behave like a six-year-old child. “I’m starving!” it said. “Feed me now before I die!” Let me tell you, I almost gave in a number of times. A nagging child can be quite convincing, after a while you are willing to give in simply to make the nagging stop. But I stuck to my guns. “No means no!” I told my stomach. “Stop pleading!” Did it listen? Not at first but with each passing day the begging has become a little less. Eventually it will accept the new regimen and quiet down altogether. And when I reach my goal, I will reward my stomach by treating it to the occasional cookie because every six-year-old child deserves to be rewarded for good behavior.