Mondays were the worst. Yvette rolled her eyes as she sat in her car, her hands gripping the steering wheel.
Every Monday, traffic was always worse than normal, coworkers were always crankier than normal and then to make matters worse, she had her weekly weigh-in at the weight loss center down the street.
She’d made it through the traffic and the coworkers and now just had to get through this 15-minute appointment. But instead of rushing into the building for this final stop before she got home, she sat still in her parked car, cringing inside.
Yvette was 60 and in no way ashamed of her curves or her weight. Instead she was ashamed of her mouth that always released the craziest statements.
Last year she had sat around the Thanksgiving dinner table telling jokes with her family when the conversation turned to sports and athletics. Somehow she had mentioned all the sports she’d played in high school and college and how she hadn’t changed that much in the last 40 years. When she caught her husband pausing to give her a look midway through her forkful of macaroni and cheese, she’d pushed him to verbalize what he was thinking. Everyone else remained quiet while her husband Eddie disagreed.
And somehow, instead of just agreeing to disagree about her strength, speed, and flexibility being the same as when she was younger, she’d found herself making a wager with her husband.
If she lost 25 pounds by their 40th anniversary, then he’d by her new clothes to fit her “old body” from her college days and two pairs of Christian Louboutin heels. They had shaken hands in front of the multitude of witnesses. Yvette figured this would be the easiest wardrobe she’d could ever win.
The smirk stayed on her face from November to May. It faltered when she realized July 1 was right around the corner.
Now with two weeks left, she was scrambling to ensure victory.
With all the fortitude she could muster, she gathered her huge beige purse and walked confidently inside to the front desk. One of the newer workers was staffing the desk.
“I’m here for my weekly weigh in,” Yvette said, noticing the girl’s name tag read Bonnie.
“Yes, ma’am, what is your name,” the worker asked politely.
While Yvette signed in while Bonnie pulled her file and was soon following the young woman through the door and toward the back to an area adjacent to the waiting room with a little more privacy.
“Well, Mrs. Miller, it seems you’ve been very consistent with your weight, staying anchored at 225, but I read your goal is at least 200…”
Bonnie set up the scale and prepared the blood pressure cuff.
“I would say for your listed height, we could probably lower your weight even more and increase your muscle tone with the right exercise referrals.”
Bonnie looked up to see Yvette clutching her purse tightly under her arm, nodding with her head in the direction of the corner.
“Listen…” Yvette peered around the office. The only other worker seemed to be in the midst of scanning a stack of papers at the copier in the corner. She quietly reached into her bag.
“I need you to alter my weight results for this week,” Yvette said, quietly.
Bonnie stared at a bag of unroasted coffee beans, another bag of black quinoa, and a container of maca roots, before looking at the older woman in disbelief.
“It’s all fresh from South America; I had a coworker bring these back for me this week.”
“Mrs. Miller, are you trying to–”
“Make sure a smart young lady has some delicious treats that are hard to come by,” Yvette offered, moving the bags closer to Bonnie’s hands. “Why, yes I am.”
Bonnie thought about it for a moment and then shrugged, eagerly taking the treats. Yvette stepped on the scale. The numbers flashed red as always, only this week the number was 227.
Yvette winced. She’d have to come up with something fast to get this past Eddie.
“Well, Mrs. Miller, it looks like you are making some amazing progress with our diet shakes,” Bonnie said, a little too loudly. “You’ve dropped 7 pounds–”
“Make it 10 and I’ll throw in raw cacao,” Yvette hissed.
Bonnie quickly signed off on Yvette’s records and accepted the cacao.
Yvette winked at Bonnie on her way out the door, thanking her politely. She knew she’d have to work hard to win the bet with Eddie. Special treats from South America wouldn’t be enough of a blandishment to distract him. But to come up with a plan of that caliber, she’d need some serious brain food.
As she left the parking lot, Yvette looked both ways before making a left on Westwood and heading to the gelateria located a few miles from the house. Strawberry gelato was just what she needed to get her creative juices flowing.