I’ve always lived by the motto of “don’t ask, don’t tell”, when it comes to the subject of my weight. Hubby has always sort of respected the limits of this, knowing that there are certain things that a man simply doesn’t ask a woman, like her real age, her real weight and her real hair color.
This morning, Hubby came into our bedroom while I was getting dressed. I was trying to zip up a pair of jean shorts, and although I could get the zipper up, I was unable to breathe. So I (literally) peeled them off and put on another pair of shorts, all the while, Hubby stood watching me.
“It won’t be long until these fit me again” I said optimistically.
And that’s when he did it. He asked that fateful question.
“How much do you weigh now, anyway?”
I answered him honestly, after all, I got weighed in yesterday at Weight Watchers and I know exactly how much I weigh, and there was no fudging the truth! Well, that’s when he actually started to make a few choice remarks about my weight. Like, about how I must have eaten a lot of good German food and enjoyed plenty of beers when I went to Germany.
Gentlemen, I am telling you now, this is truly dangerous territory.
I turned and asked him if he was the “fat police”!
One thing about Hubby, he’s really bright. He smiled and winked and left our bedroom before I could throw a shoe at him!
I’m glad I’m back on my weight loss plan, because the above situation could have a turned out differently. You could be reading about the justifiable homicide of a husband who asked his wife about her weight, as he was prying a double fudge brownie out of her hands when she snapped!
Now that really would be a tragedy, wouldn’t it?
