Sneak Attack!

So there I am, minding my own business, getting my mail, which by the way, I had to drive my car to my mail box- yes, I know it is right there at the corner, but lately I've taken to "event dressing" and getting the mail just doesn't qualify as an event. But it just won't do to have the neighbors recognize that, well... my "sleep to street" wear, is looking a little like yesterday's. Anyhow, I get the mail and right away I realized there was something wrong. First off, a typical mail day will be loaded with bills and threatening notes from people who used to be my friends. You know like the once really friendly people over at American Express, yeah, I guess they really didn't love me. Man, in the old days they'd send me little gifts- but they just dropped all pretense of late. Oh, and my old pals at the IRS, yeah they were only pretending to like me too. I feel so used, degraded and somehow, a little cheap. If that doesn't just show you who your real friends are, nothing will. Anyhow, back to the mail- there were no letter bombs, no strange white power leaking from the corners of the envelopes, there was just one single post card. It was from someone I knew years ago, but I'd managed to avoid since moving across state. You think you can hide, but somehow, someway, they manage to "sniff" you out. The card read that it was my "last chance". Last chance for what- right? Nothing gets me in a bad mood quicker (except when I run outta wine) then when someone tells me it is my last chance- final opportunity, blah,blah. So, back to the oversized post card, yeah, you guessed it, Weight Watchers was telling ME, that it was my final opportunity. Did they know something I didn't? Kinda made me look around to make sure no one was watching me stuff the card into the front seat of my car- right next to the bag of marshmallows, which was directly adjacent to the box of Rice Krispies. Imagine that, I was getting ready to make myself a "treat" and Weight Watchers stuffed their big fat face into my arena letting me know I was hanging by a thread. Well, I've got news for you WW, even with your final offer, I am just not budging. No, I've
had it with those meetings where you get in line and wait to get the bad news. The "counselor" glances at your current weight and then goes to open up your little card that you'd hidden so well in fear someone would find it and post it on Fbook, that you'd almost forgotten where you'd put it and then it hits you- you put it in a zip lock baggy filled with old meatloaf- no one was going there. Anyhow the counselor opens up that damp tri-fold card and lets out a little tsk, tsk. She looks up at you with her bright red lip stick, "Awe, honey, you had a bad week, now don't let that get you down and make you feel bad. A nine pound gain can happen and after all, you missed last weeks meeting, now don't you worry." Worry, I thought, this makes me wanna go pound some Cheetos. After all I'd sacrificed and I gained weight? Must be my thyroid...