Sweet, Dark and Crazy

Monday, August 2, 2010

Come to Jesus

Since I’ve been in the South (four years now) there is one Southernism that I’ve come to love even more than “Bless your heart.” I’m not sure if it’s really a Southern thing, suffice to say, I’ve only heard it since I’ve been living in the South and the only people I’ve ever heard use it are Southern natives.

When my former co-worker, Bob, who was the head of HR, would have to have heart-to-heart talks with difficult employees he’d refer to those as his Come to Jesus talks. I loved it.

For the uninitiated, a Come to Jesus moment is a time where you have to face a hard truth. In Bob’s case, it was telling an errant employee that they were headed out the door if they didn’t change their ways. In any case, it’s always a sobering moment.

I had my own Come to Jesus moment over the weekend. Now, over the summer, in fact, since the spring, my walking buddy Betsy and I have been hoofing it hard five to six days a week, walking for at least an hour every morning. Of course, during that same time I’ve lulled myself into believing I could eat what I wanted because “I’ve been working out.”

As a former successful Weight Watcher (I lost 40 pounds on the program before getting all depressed and gaining all that back plus 20 pounds), I know it doesn’t work that way, but hey – denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.

I had also convinced myself that drying my pants in the dryer was what was making them snugger. My face looking rounder in the mirror was just me ‘overreacting’. None of it could have anything to do with my daily drive-through forays or my weekend munch fests.

Anyway, my Dad was down a few weeks ago, and I was shocked that he said nothing about my weight. Then, I spoke to him on Saturday, and he was "concerned", about my health and carrying that extra weight, something about me having two diabetic parents and all that blah, blah, blah.

The whole thing prompted me to do something I hadn’t done in months. I stepped on my scale. Then I stepped on it again. Then I shouted, “Shut the front door!” (one of several catchy phrases I picked up from an Orbit gum commercial that can replace words that rhyme with puck and pit).

Then, I shut the blinds (lest I inadvertently scare the neighbors), stripped down to my skivvies and stepped on the scale again. It wasn’t much better as I yelled, “Well, butter my biscuit!”

I officially weight 100 pounds more than I did when I graduated college. Now, I don’t ever expect to get back down to that weight. But 100 pounds? Really? That’s one mean Mickey Fickey!

I have no intention of turning this into a weight loss blog but starting today, I will be turning away from the drive through.

Labels: Food, Foot In Mouth, Me

posted by SDC @ 7:02 PM

0 Comments: