The Belt

I had another crap weigh in yesterday. Was up 1.5 lbs. I can't say I'm surprised. I haven't really rejoined Weight Watchers hard core and actually had a torpedo from La Gondola for breakfast last week (think gondola from Avanti's). Breakfast of champions.

Anyways, once again, I decided to jump back into Weight Watchers full force and actually move my body by going to 4 Seasons. I did an intense 55 minute cardio workout and came home. I had purposely worn sweatpants and t-shirt (as opposed to shorts and wife beater--my normal uniform) so I would sweat a lot and feel like I had done more than I actually did. It worked, I was covered in sweat and I felt like I had kicked ass. I even waited to change until Marc came home so I could have someone point out how hard I must have worked by saying "Man, you must have been working real hard, you're shirt is covered in sweat." He did, just as I predicted, and it felt good.

That feeling last about 2 seconds when he added, "Oh, hey, I hope you don't mind I borrowed your brown belt today for work." It wasn't a big deal that he had borrowed my belt. I mean, it made me feel like a real fatty that my boyfriend could borrow my belt, but I didn't care. And then it got worse, I noticed he had it on the tightest setting. Are you kidding me?! I had the worse sinking feeling in my stomach. I can't even get that thing past the 3rd or 4th hole. I instantly whined that it wasn't fair and Marc reassured me he had an exceptionally small waist for a man. I think all I managed was an "F you" under my breath. To make matters worse, he wore it around his head like an Indian headdress the rest of the night while we watched TV. I finally in true Crazy Sarah style turned to him out of nowhere and shrieked, "Can you take that stupid thing off your head now. It's taunting me." Belts are the devil.