Is that right?

I knew it would not be pretty.

As I pulled into the parking lot for my semi-annual visit to my doctor, just to get results of blood work, a fear came over me. Not that the tests would be bad, but that I would have to get on the scale.

After two weeks on a Mediterranean cruise and, for the most part, abandoning what little self-control I have when it comes to food, I dreaded the magic number I would see.

The nurse put me on the scale, one of those old fashioned doctor scales with the weights.

He started at 150.  I chucked and said, "you're gonna need more than that, honey."

I was right. It wasn't pretty.

My doctor came in and looked at my vitals.  Then she looked at me.

"Is that right," she said, pointing to my weight.

"Yeah, 'fraid so."

It was up quite a bit from my last visit six months ago. 

Then she moved onto my blood pressure, which, ironically, was way down from the last visit (not that it is ever high to begin with.)

"I don't normally recommend this," she said, "but gaining weight has helped your blood pressure. I guess it works for you."

Despite that little bit of humor, she gave me the eye. 

"Yeah, I know, I know.  I have to lose it, most of my clothes don't fit."

She replied, "It's cheaper to lose it than to buy a new wardrobe."

Yeah, but not nearly as fun.