Back in December Corey went with me to an appointment with my doctor. He thinks I pooh-pooh serious ailments, like when I had swine flu and it felt like I was being stabbed in the chest and refused to go to the ER, so he likes to go and make sure I give the doc all the facts.
So there we go, back to the weigh station. I hand him my coat and my purse.
Now remember, he's there for 1) moral support, and 2) to be helpful in solving some possible problems.
I step on the scale.
I remember the big dinner I had the night before and, oh yeah, not exercising for an entire month.
Then Corey says:
"Wow. I don't know why people think you're only 100 pounds."
I'm thinking of nominating him for Mr. Sensitivity 2011.