When couples have anniversaries, they often think back on their “stories.” You know, how they met, the first date, the first kiss, the engagement, the wedding, the honeymoon, the first kid … the list goes on. There are stories for every milestone in every relationship.
Well, I have an anniversary story of my own — one I’ve alluded to several times on this blog. It’s the story of how I finally got off my butt and got moving. I’m reluctant to share it because it’s kind of embarrassing. Nay. Super embarrassing. Only a couple people in my life even know the story. Amor doesn’t even know. When I’ve been asked the “why now” question, I’ve always just said that it was time. Well, it was a little more than that.
It was a dark and stormy night … OK. Not really. It was summer 2009. I had spent several hours looking up Weight Watchers meetings in my area and learning about the program, thinking that that would be the summer I joined. You see, I knew it worked because several family members belonged or had at one time. But why then? Well, just because. It was time. I had the money. I had nothing better to do with my time. I finally felt ready.
Then, I went to our annual women’s breakfast with my dad’s side of the family. It was our normal, fun, family time with delicious food and lots of catching up. No big story there. It was when I returned to my apartment after the breakfast when “The Incident” happened.
My first stop after the 2-1/2-hour drive from my parents’ house is always the bathroom because I don’t believe in “pee breaks” when they can be avoided (public restrooms are so nasty). So I sit down on the toilet. And what should I hear but a loud “CRACK” sound.
“Um,” I say to myself and my nearby cat, Moe. “I think my toilet just broke.”
So I stand up to take a look and … “WHAT THE WHAT?!” Pain. Awful pain. My butt was pinched in my freshly broken toilet seat, courtesy my fast a**. I had to pry the broken toilet seat back apart because it quickly closed up tight around my skin. I imagine it must have looked pretty ridiculous had there been an outside observer: Me standing there with my pants and underbritches around my ankles, turned halfway around, fighting with the jaws-of-life toilet seat.
It was then and there, mid-pee, pinched butt hanging out that I decided it was time to do something about my weight. A black-and-blue butt really makes a girl seriously rethink things.
Besides the pinch in the butt I needed to get myself in gear, this adventure in bathroom disasters taught me a couple things:
- I now know how to replace a toilet seat (it’s so ridiculously easy).
- Sometimes it’s in your very worst moments that your life changes for the best.
- Even in the comfort of your own bathroom, sometimes it’s better to squat.