a rocky start (m)

I called my friend, Mary, a chronic dieter. Her weight fluctuates by 40 pounds every year...up and down like a toilet seat. It's been like this since I've known her. We met in 1979 at business school.

I knew she had just signed up for Weight Watchers...again. I told her I was going to join and wanted her to attend class with me so we could sit in the back of the room and be the "bad kids." I think she liked the partner-in-crime aspect of this as she readily agreed to meet me Friday for the 10 a. m. class.

One stipulation, I said. I don't want you peeking at the scale when I get weighed. No, she said. It's totally different now. You step on a scale and the weight shows up on a screen behind the desk. Only that woman sees it. You never see it. I was psyched.

We get to Weight Watchers and some former fatty greets me with a knowing smile. I felt panicky. I don't know why.

At the desk, I filled out the paperwork and stepped on the scale. Elaine weighs me, doesn't laugh or gag and starts to write something down. What are you writing, I asked. Your weight she said. On my booklet? The one I keep with me? Yeah, she replied. No, no. Don't write the weight down. I don't want to see it, I don' t want my kids or husband to see it if I get hit by a car and they have to rummage through my purse. I have to write it down, she said. You HAVE to write it down? Isn't it in your computer? Yes, she said. Then DON'T WRITE IT IN MY BOOK. I DON'T WANT TO SEE IT. Well, I have to write it down. Fine, I replied. You wrote it. Now, here's what I want you to do. CROSS IT OUT...HERE'S A PEN.

Elaine sighs dramatically and crosses it out. Clearly, I've been marked as non-compliant and I'm sure she thought I already don't fit the profile of one of their little soldiers. She may be right. I was so pissed I wanted to leave. But it's not about Elaine. It's about me and my health, so I stayed. m