Chubs and I are leaning against the sofa watching Mr Christmas decorate houses (and one fire station) for Christmas and there is ice cream going round but his wife looks at him sternly because the doctor has had a thing or two to say about his weight.
I ask him how heavy he is and he tells me. I am staggered. I stepped on the scale this morning and this is exactly my weight. Before this, I knew I was ballooning up like a proverbial Michelin Woman, but by not looking at the wefies my friends take of us (well, not closely anyway) I have been able to ignore the problem. But I have always been lighter than Chubs.
Now we're the same weight? Which means I am fatter because his bones are heavier. Arrrggghhh!
When I had the hysterectomy, everyone and their doctors told me one side effect would be weight gain. But I'd already gained so much weight, what was a few pounds more? Well, it wasn't a few. Since the op, it was more like 15 hefty kilos in two years. That's a whopping 33 pounds.
And so I have finally decided that this laziness is not going to cut it. I can't squeeze into my huge clothes, everything sticks at the belly and I just don't feel comfortable in my skin. I've not been comfortable for a long time, but as I said, I'm good at avoiding stuff, especially if there is something (like work) to take up all my energy and attention.
But a three-week break has given me time and space to look at things. Like my really messed up life. My cats who refuse to eat their wet food (is something wrong with the food?) and who now have fungal infections - I have to wrestle with Boom Boom every day to clean out the affected area and apply her cream and feed her, her antibiotics. Rose does it in a jiffy but it became too expensive getting Rose to come over every day for this.
Anyway, we're nearly done with the antibiotics. And her fur has started to grow in the affected area. Smeagol who had an even worse infection has had three jabs to kill the parasites.
There are certain things that I need to do. Sleep properly. Meditate. Read my New Yorkers which appear in my postbox way too often (I know, I took up a subscription but I haven't time to read all the stories). Well, until now. I forced myself to read the Dec 7 issue cover to cover and I've just finished.
Do the 10,000 (which I have grossly neglected for lounging on the sofa to watch Crash Landing on You yet again). I can still watch Crash Landing - it's just that I will have to watch it on my phone as I do the steps.
So I've set goals for myself this year. I know exactly how much weight I want to lose.
I know exactly how much money I want to save.
I haven't really made any other goals yet, And the week ahead is turning out to be super filled with activities (they all got bunched up to after Christmas).
My friends and I wanted to meet for lunch tomorrow. But now we find that most places have Covid cases. I just checked - where I live, there has been one case in a 1km radius from me in the past 14 days. I think the cases are rising so quickly that people have become inured to it. They just shrug, like, whatever and want to meet anyway.
The new normal?