what's the BIG deal --

Aaaaa.

Today is Epiphany Day.
Did you know that?
Today the Catholics celebrate the Wise Men coming to see the Baby Jesus.
That's cool.


Actually for us in our home, every day is an epiphany day. Just - over smaller stuff.

"I really do have to drive slow or I'll get a ticket!" (son)
"I guess I really didn't hear, again, what you said!" (hubby)
"I really can't take a piece of roast beef off the dinner table!" (dog)




Well I bet you didn't know this, but Hubby isn't the only man I'm close to. There's another man, and I see him every week without fail. He even knows how much I weigh! Hubby doesn't even know that. (And if Hubby knows what's good for him, he will never take a stab at it when I'm in earshot.)

My other manpal is Sal. He runs the front desk at the local Weight Watchers. Sal's my buddy, my confidant, my inspiration.
Though I haven't been inspired to do anything for the last year, except stay away from his wife. She runs the meetings and you don't want to weigh-in when she's doin' the weighing. I'd rather stick needles in my eyes. She's tough. Tough, tough, tough.

Soooo, I wait 'til a stroke past meeting time beginnings, before I saunter in. Well, it's more of a slither really. I guess a secret spy kind of pathway dash, hide behind columns, anonymous entry.
Why, you ask?
Oh believe me sister, no one is going to see me in public on weigh-in mornings.

Not that you'd recognize me anyhow.
I'm a shadow of myself. A mere sunglassed impostor of Bliss.
By that I mean I have taken off, or unloaded, every single thing from my person that can possibly be unloaded. You wouldn't know me if you saw me.
And each week I go a step further.

In my first weigh-ins I had on jeans, sweaters, jewelry . . .
. . . and it's all gone slowly down-weight-from-there.

Not the flesh though. The flesh hasn't gone anywhere. Just the decorations.

But now I can't find a bloody thing more to get off of my body before I weigh-in! I mean, the last 10 weeks I haven't even worn underwear! There's nothing left, unless I want to get arrested. (~Hey, there's Bliss. Why isn't she wearing any clothes?~)

I leave home my hairclips, earrings, wedding rings, retainer. I don't swallow after brushing my teeth. I don't wear mascara. I stop to use a public restroom on the way there. I have bridge work, but I can't figure how to get it out of my mouth. I exhale before stepping on the scale, I blow my nose, I check for ticks. I don't even use big words.
There is nothing left.
Not a single thing left of Bliss.

Hence the epiphany!
The only thing Bliss has left, is Bliss. In abundance.

I have to lose weight.


Though it's true I've had this epiphany a few hundred times before. When you Epiphanate on Epiphany Day -- there's no fighting it. The Epiphany wins.

So tomorrow is D-Day. Dart Day.
(You know, from my car to the door . . from the door to my car.)

But every week will get better, I'm sure.
I've just gotta face the music (--before I decide to lose my hearing too. How much does hearing weigh, anyhow?).

Never mind that.

I'm giving it the old effort again, and gonna drop a few. I'm not making any huge promises, but I know at least Sal is gonna be happy for me. He's really run out of niceties to say, --since I don't know, --last June?

And I don't need any smart remarks from the peanut gallery the next couple of weeks. Rome wasn't built in one day, you know.

And it wasn't lost in one either.