I dreaded the weekly weigh in at Weight Watchers. Post - menopausal weight is keeping me from the Sport Illustrated front page. I weighed myself stark naked out of the shower. If my hair dried on the way to the meeting, maybe I’d lose a half pound. I donned my lightest shorts and top and took myself to the meeting in spite of my inner devil screaming at me, “Eat a bagel and then take a nap. There’s high calorie cream cheese in the fridge.”

 

As I waited my turn to weigh in, I fabricated my little white lie. I am a fan of little white lies. I love them, really. I decided I’d tell Connie, our leader, that I was in Italy for a week and the pasta was so fresh and delicious. Let’s blame the pasta and don’t forget the wine, which I really did drink. I knew Connie liked to travel so this was a brilliant on my part.

 

I had myself so deep in my white lie, I developed an Italian accent by the time I reached my turn. “Connie, (I kissed both of her cheeks) How’s your mama? Next week, I’m-a-gonna bring you some a sauce, Bella.” She looked at me strangely. “What’s –a –matter for you?” I asked. “Anne, get on the scale,” she ordered. I tried to take deep breaths to shoot some of the calories out of my nose. I was desperate.

 

“You lost a pound and a half,” she smiled. I didn’t tell her about Italy. I’ll save that for another week when I gain weight.

 

The pressure of getting caught in my little white lie gave me a sweltering hot flash. I looked like I’d been swimming (possible my practice swim for the cover of Sports Illustrated) I think I lost another two pounds. Menopause rocks!!