You weigh less than a bag of cement

Published in the Daily Monitor: http://www.monitor.co.ug

I often read stories of the ordinary woman constantly on the weighing scale to see if they’re losing weight as per their dieting efforts.

I tend to avoid those things like the plague. I’m not interested in seeing how little I weigh. I’m, in fact, allergic to weighing scales.

Because I have this strange condition where I rarely fall ill, I have been weighed only thrice as an adult in my life. The first time I was 26 years old and had no choice. It was a work medical check-up. I sat nervously waiting for the doctor’s verdict on my weight. I wasn’t concerned about Cancer. I was cringing inside waiting to hear about my weight.

“You know”, my doctor said. “All your tests show you’re perfectly healthy but-”

She paused, confused.

“Well?”, I pressed. Let’s get this over with.

“I don’t understand why you have a paediatric weight”.

“Whassat?”

“You have the weight of a child”.

“Is there a cure for that?”, I asked.

“I don’t think so. You’re healthy but-”, her brow was furrowed in puzzlement. “This is really very strange”.

“Well, as long as I’m healthy, that’s all that matters. I’m off!”

Another time I was 31 years old and had escorted my sick boyfriend to the hospital. After he got off the scale, he turned to me.

“Hey, Lindsey!”, he said. “While you’re here, why don’t you weigh yourself?”

“No, thanks”, I said as I nonchalantly flipped the pages of my magazine. My stomach was starting to tie itself into knots.

“Come on!”, he said. “Just for fun!”

“Leave me alone”, I growled.

Naawe”, the nurse said. “It won’t hurt. Surely you know how much you weigh”.

There was a tense silence.

“You don’t know how much you weigh?”, my boyfriend exclaimed in shock.

“Leave. Me. Alone”, I said through clenched teeth.

“No!”, he said and forcefully pulled me out of the chair. There was a furious struggle as he tried to force me onto the weighing scale and I kicked my legs in the air trying to get away from it.

As I noticed we were getting the attention of other patients, I angrily stood on the scale and glared straight ahead. Once again, there was a puzzled silence.

We were in the parking lot when my boyfriend finally spoke.

“Do you know you weigh much less than a bag of cement?”

baby

Say it isn’t so

 

 

 

2 thoughts on “You weigh less than a bag of cement”

  1. Hahahaha. Glad to meet another ka-nnyabo!

    I remember a day many years ago when Fatboy dedicated his morning radio show to the very small percentage of African me who like skinny women….

    Oh Uganda!

    Like

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