And then I got to thinking…hmm…I am about to enter into a phase of life that causes one to gain weight. Perhaps it is not for my own health and well-being and that of my unborn child…that can’t be it. My theory is that they don’t want to encourage somebody who is GETTING FATTER to come every week…it will throw off the averages for group weight loss. And it’s possible that I might pack on so much chub that instead of saying “as a group we lost 40 pounds this week” they will have to say, “I’m sorry, ladies, but as a group we actually gained 7 pounds this week.”
As you can imagine, I felt very rejected and sort of shoved off adrift on my own to struggle with limiting my first trimester weight gain to an appropriate number (less than, let’s say, the weight of a standard aircraft carrier). So what did I do? I enacted my plan called “make them sorry they ever threw me out.” Here’s how it works: you have to plan ahead of time for weeks, being quiet and timid and never saying anything or offering any comments or suggestions. You must be there and participate, but to do so as unobtrusively as possible. And then, when you are kicked out, and they tell you “well, it’s okay if you stay for today’s meeting but you can’t come back,” (which is good since I rode with somebody and didn’t want to have to wait for her in the car like a spaniel) you have to sit in the front half of the room and have to give SPECTACULAR answers to every question, garnering remarks from all over the room such as “what a great idea” or “I wish I’d thought of that” or, best of all, “THAT’s what I’ll so from now on.” Your answers have to be so good that the group leader ACTUALLY BEGINS TO USE YOUR TERMINOLOGY (Me: "You know, I think we sublimate our feelings of worthlessness beneath other endeavours such as caring for our children or working on our careers." Her (later): That's exactly right, it's a process of sublimation!) You have to make them sorry to lose such a vast bank of losing-weight skills. HA!
I have also been secretly plotting my revenge. I plan to start a new membership incognito (perhaps with one of those Groucho glasses/nose/moustache things) and show up every week for weigh-in with a pocket full of successively heavier lead weights…”I’m sorry ladies, but it appears we have gained a total of 56 pounds this week.” Either that, or I may sabotage them by placing trays of cookies, cakes, candies and sweet rolls on the sign-in table.
No matter what, they can’t REALLY make me stop. Last night I silently stole a whole pile of the daily food journals and have now gone underground in my Weight Watching. Cathy, my mother in law and WW partner, has vowed to bring me all the handouts. I asked her about calling me during the meeting and letting me secretly listen to it over her cell phone, but she wasn’t thrilled about that prospect. Apparently she is not as comfortable with diet espionage as I am.
On another similar, yet completely unrelated note, I decided to try my own aversion therapy treatment. See, I’ve been having to go for a lot of blood work lately, what with being pregnant and all. Because I don’t particularly enjoy having blood drawn and it has, on occasion, been known to make me light-headed and even to pass out once or twice. So here is my therapy: every time I have to have blood drawn, I buy myself a donut for breakfast (and YES, I counted the points for Weight Watchers). This seemed like a GREAT plan…who knows? I may even begin to ENJOY having my blood drawn. But, alas, when I spoke to the Dr.’s office yesterday, the nurse informed me that I did not need to schedule any more lab work. I was crushed. But, the good news is that my therapy technique seems to have worked perfectly and I am now considering copyrighting it as intellectual property.