I didn’t bother to take my pants off. I didn’t even kick my shoes off. I exhaled and stepped onto the scale. The digital readout sped through the numbers and stopped at 156.2 pounds. I laughed a little, the nurses thought I was crazy.
I don’t weigh myself. Scales bring out a combination of body dysmorphia mixed with a narcissism instilled in me through a coming of age wrapped in a plastic bag sweating off the pounds on the wrestling mat. Some things you just can’t shake.
I left the doctor and decided I needed to fatten up. I leave for Africa on Wednesday. What if I get sick? I don’t have any weight to loose so I better put on some pounds. How fat can I get in 48 hours, I wondered. I have an amazing ability to eat constantly and always be hungry. I’d been warned that Taghia was infamous for making people hungry and sending them home ‘trim’, according to a local contact. I felt like I was preparing for Baffin Island again and I could imagine Ben Ditto warning me, “You better get really serious about food planning, Dave.”
I have to get fat fast or else I might end up trimmed. Good thing we’re having a barbecue tonight. I’ll eat an extra hamburger…and six cookies.