Sunday, August 15, 2010
Yesterday I hit the 13-pound-loss-mark. I was so excited. I could now say aloud that I had lost thir-TEEN pounds. No longer was I in the single digits, nor in the paltry early double digits that had solitary names of their own, not cool enough to be part of "The Group." I, however, had just joined the "Teen" group and I was ecstatic.
You can only imagine my elation when I stepped onto the scale this morning and discovered that I had lost 14 (excuse me, four-TEEN) pounds. I was laughing, clapping my hands and, dignity not withstanding, almost jumping up and down with glee, recognizing that the next single solitary pound I shed would put me at 15- FIFTEEN- XV pounds gone. I would be at an even multiple of five, I could post an "I lost 15 pounds" Spark icon on my page, I could tell people I had lost 15 pounds and watch their faces take on a "Sure, probably less" expression as they heard the round number issue from my mouth.
How is it possible to be this excited about a mundane event that ump-TEEN people experience every day? Obviously, maturity does not necessarily accompany aging.