August 28, 2007
My husband joined the YMCA. Can you believe that? He's started exercising and I've started stocking up on canned goods, because seriously folks, the end is nigh. Hell has frozen over, and I think the earth will soon follow.
Next thing you know, I'm gonna run out and do something ridiculous, too--like vacuum. Oh man! That would really be something, huh?
Last night, after dinner, we all loaded into the Toyota and headed to the Y as a family. James played in the bounce house, I sat motionless on the recumbent bike reading People, and Jared ran on the treadmill.
After about thirty minutes, when I felt like I had adequately judged Brittany's latest antics, I headed to the scale to see if my page turning had prompted any miracles.
Mmmmm....not so much. According to that evil piece of equipment, I had actually gained eight pounds. "Oh, C'MON!" I huffed, and walked off to find Jared.
When I found my husband I was wearing an elephant-sized frown and he was sporting one of his classic 'I neglected to flush the toilet on purpose' grins.
We took one look at each other, and in unison, asked "What's going on?"
And then, in unison, we answered, "I gained eight pounds." The only difference was, I ended my sentence with the word 'damn it' and Jared ended his with a body builder pose.
And then, in unison, the truth of the situation dawned on us both...the scale was off by eight pounds. Hallelujah.
As Jared turned to walk away, all slumpy and deflated, I stopped him, looked deep into his eyes, gave him a firm pat on the butt and said, "Go get 'em tiny."
GOSH that felt good.