There is a profound story of an Indian boy who goes off by himself for several days to become a man. He climbs a mountain, reaches the top and is terrified to hear the rattle of a snake nearby. The snake asks the youth to put him under his shirt and take him down to the bottom of the mountain, as it's freezing to death. The youth says, "No! I know what you are! You will poison and kill me." The snake says, "No. I won't bite YOU. YOU are special."
Ultimately, the youth gives in and picks up the coiled snake, tucking him under his shirt and takes him to the bottom. When he releases the snake, the snake suddenly STRIKES and BITES the boy.
"BUT YOU PROMISED!" the boy cries as he lays, dying. The snake hisses these powerful words...
"YOU KNEW WHAT I WAS WHEN YOU PICKED ME UP!" And slithers away.
Now I didn't WANT to bear false witness, folks. But when you look a woman in the eye and ask how much she weighs, she has no choice BUT to look away and fabricate. That's what we do. That's how we roll. Ask any Drivers License bureau.
And I did keep it within a ten pound parameter of my current weight, soothing myself with the promise that THIS will be the catalyst to actually BE that weight when the nurse shows up at my door with BP cuff and scales. Kind of like when you (me) buy a pair of pants in a size too small, vowing you'll (me'll) fit into them by the end of the month. Only to find them again years later and give them to the D.I...not because they never fit (tags still attached) but because you're (me's) a giver, people. Generous to a fault.
But if, for some nutty reason, I don't quite attain that distorted number that tripped off my tongue so easily~even WITH sweaty summertime walking~I can not be held accountable, folks. I mean, really (hisssss)...Really, they knew what I was (hisssss) when they picked me up.
Or tried to, at least.