MY name is Shannon

Humphreys and ’'m a
great big fatty pants.

* That’s the statement I
madeas J stepped up to the
sgunter at the local Weight

Watchers office last week.
The woman behind the
counter flashed me a kind

_ and sympathetic smile.

She had been overweight
herself once, but was no
tubby now. She looked to
me to be barely a hundred
pounds and very chic in styl-
ish clothes that probabiy
didn’t even hurt her when

‘she sar down.

_ Linhaled deeply, adjusted
the stretched out-elasticized
-. waistband on the last pair of
‘golf shorts that I can
squeeze my big can into,
kicked off my shoes and

“.. stepped onto the electronic

scale for my inaugural
. Weight Watchers weigh in.
| Half expecting bells and
whistles to go off, or some
such explosion of great-big-
ness, f sreeled myself for the
result, derérmined to be
Brave.

*-The'stark.realization that

“twas time to do something
about my weight hit me
when I was vacationing in
Florida recently.

No sane woman goes to
Florida without a bathing
.suit; it’s hot as hell down

there. packed my old
standby (the sensible navy
_ blue one-piece Ive been

earing for nine years) and

ral parterned cover-up

anticipating some serious
beach time. :
z when I put on my
‘swimsuit in Our hotel room
and happened to glance at
myselfin the. full-length
mirror I darn near fainted.

-There before me stood a
middle-aged matron in what

peared to. be the exact
same body. suit Robin

Williams donned for his role.

as the female: nanny in the’ ~!
ovie Mrs. Doubtfire.

weighty matters

like a bolt of lightning it
struck me. My floral
coverup is, in fact, a Muu
Muu. I'm a big fat lady in «
Muu Muu.

T wouldn’r have been so
appalled by the vision,
except that my fat is not the
nice kind.

I've got the bad kind of
fat; fat that bulges in tires
where your waistline is sup-

“P’ve got the bad
kind of fat; fat
that bulges in

tires where your

waistline is
supposed to be,
waffles all over
your thighs ... ”

posed to be, waffles all over
your thighs and collects in
puffy sacks under your chin.

I'm talking fat that wig-
gles and jiggles like Jell-O
cubes at a kid’s birthday
party.

In addition, my upper
arms have turned into big,
floppy flank steaks thar catch
on my sides and dwarf my
husband’s flexed (but still

somewhat puny) biceps.

“Gee honey” same hus-
band chided in what he
thought was a good natured
way, “Just think. Hwe ever
get caught on a ship with
engine trouble we can use
vour upper arms as sails.”
Hee Haw.

“Pm a big fat chick,” I
wailed, throwing myself’
onto the bed. I buried my
face in the pillows, not
wanting to see or hear any
more.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he
said, backpedalling. “You
look fine.

“A little chubby maybe,
buc that just means there’s
more for me to love.”

Tender words from 2
skinny guy who just days
before offered me this fine
tip co get some extra dis-
tance with my golf clubs:
“You've got that big old
arse back there, Shannon,
why don’t you use it in your
gelf swing.”

I probably should have
seen the truth well before
the Florida trip.

The signs have all been
there, I just haven’t paid any
attention to them. You see,
1 don't keep a scale in my
house.

I've always believed that
people (mosily women) get
too hung up on what they
weigh, when how you feel is
a much better measure of
where you are 2t health-
wise. And I fee! great.

Plus [I get plenty of exet-
cise and [ve always figured
that as long as I am physi-
cally fir 1 don’r need to
worry about what I cat, pro-
vided some of it is good for
me

Still, } should have
known. When the under-

‘Gua 320 BE ST

21 pt. Safety check: 15 minutes - FAST!
spewed includes up to 5 litres of 10w30 Quakerstate

wear gets tight and the once
narrow feet grow a tull size
in length and width and
there's only one pair of golf
shorts thar fiz, a yal ougat
to know,

When vour dumb brother
tells vou that you Iook just
like your Granny did in her
bathing suir, and your
teenaged sons bring their
macho friends over to see if
they can litt you up off the
ground you should get the
message.

Having your bottom
compared to “nwo pigs in a
sack fighting” by your
scrawny Mother should
definitely tip you off.

Stepping down off the
weigh scale, t exhaled,
relaxed my stomach muscles
and looked at the number
the gal had written down on
my membership card.

“fwenty pounds is not
so much to have to lose,”
she assured me, patting my
hand.

I was flabbergasted.
Obviously F made the cut,

It’s taken a few days, but
Pm almost used to the idea
that ['m chubby.

Besides, now that [’'m a
“Weight Watcher” I know
what to do.

Heil, ’'m so busy bud-
geting points so that I can
have a frosty Silver Buller
with my handful of Cheezies
on Friday night that I don’t
have time to worry about
my weight.

One pound down, 19 to

ue)

TH keep you posted.

“OR7- 1293

Pues: Sido.

Cw wits wel

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