I decided to get out my spring clothes, and sort through my fall/winter clothes and see which ones are just plain too fallish and winterish looking to wear this time of year. Not that I'm putting away ALL my warm things, mind you, just the one's that scream "wear me to visit the pumpkin patch" or "aren't I a charming shade of holiday red?" You know what I mean.
At any rate, there's these vile old t-shirts of mine that got pulled out of my spring/summer bag of clothes. I'd forgotten all about them. Each is a very faded solid color: faded pale blue, faded peach, dingy lime green. Beige. You know the type.
I think that it's time for these t-shirts to meet their bitter end in a garbage can. I felt very un-lovely when I wore them last year and I am thinking that this year they need to go away. I don't have any warm feelings left towards those shirts and my dignity can barely stay intact when I wear them. They are that dingy.
Does anyone else have trouble justifying the riddance of clothing, even when it's vile?
On other "happy" notes today: My husband's company has a mandatory program...well, they say it's voluntary, but those who don't volunteer get to pay a much higher insurance premium each month...where you go in and get your body analyzed for weight, blood pressure, cholesterol, BMI etc. and then you go back again in six months for the same. Supposedly, if one's numbers are the same or improved, you get a hundred dollars on potenially each of five points of measurement. That's five hundred dollars I could earn if my body decides to cooperate with my program.
So this morning I completed the walk of shame at my husband's work place. I filled out forms, got a needle in my arm, had my very excellent blood pressure taken (the lady was all surprised that an obese gal like me could have good BP, pfffft. Not like I'm not trying here, OK?) and had to submit to being measured (yes, I'm still an inch shorter than I used to be, pffft), weighed (down eight or so pounds but pfffft...still obese), and have the fattest part of my abdomen measured. Cringe. Of course I knew all those numbers already. I don't need anyone to tell me that I'm obese, or that my gut is a huge xx inches. Whenever I'm told that I"m at rist because my waist is larger than 35 inches I want to point out that in that case I've always been "at risk" because it's been bigger than 35 inches my entire adult life and I doubt, even were I to weigh something miniscule like 160 pounds, my waist would still be bigger than that. I HATE those stupid charts!!!!!! Stupid stinkin' BM-blankety-blank-I!!!!!
In front of me in line was Wes, who of course has made NO EFFORT over the years to do anything about his weight, his cholesterol or anything and whose BMI is perfection itself. He's the one who has a beer at night and who eats potatoes. He's the one who never ever exercises. I could cry. He's the one who gets congratulated at the weigh-in station. At least he knows better than some not to be smug about it.
Needless to say I felt rotten on the way home, even though I knew in advance what to expect. Instead of feeling proud that I HAVE lost weight, I feel crappy that there is so far to go and that some kid who works for the health care company had to measure my non-waist. Why? Why? Why?