I threw in the towel today. Actually, it wasn't a towel, it was a pile of jeans that I've been saving for when I lose weight. I gave up. If a miracle occurs and I ever get back into single-digit size pants, I'll celebrate by buying new ones. But the ones in the storage bin in the bottom of my closet were just clutter. Instead of taking them to Goodwill, I took them to Share, a local church-run organization that simply gives clothes and food to people who need things just to live a decent life. I didn't want anyone exchanging money over my failure.
However, I wanted to kick the Share volunteer in her skinny derriere. She took the piles of pants that represented my failure and I mumbled something about how humiliating it was to have to give away perfectly good clothes because I can't fit in them. She said, smugly, "Well, you do know there's something you can do about that, don't you?"
I could have feigned ignorance and said, "What? There's really something I can do? I never knew. Please share your brilliant insights with me." I could have said, "Excuse me, I didn't really hear what you said because I was so distracted by that combination of peroxide and home perm kit that you seem to have applied to your hair." I could have flashed her my Weight Watchers lifetime card and said, "See this, you arrogant beeoootch? I know exactly what to do. I've done it and I've done it again. I fell off the wagon. So what? At least I have the decency to be kind to other people, unlike a certain prune-faced woman in polyester being all superior while working in the church basement making a plump donor feel like a moral failure and a moron."
I said nothing. Of course I said nothing. Why are the retorts always best when it's way too late to deliver them?
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