Recently, my husband insisted we buy a white board. And hang it in my kitchen where I had a couple of pretty pictures. I wasn’t thrilled to be losing valuable decorative wall-space, but if it makes him happy, who am I to say no? I was especially not thrilled that he bought a gigantic, expensive white board at an office-supply store instead of a cheap one that will fall apart quickly from the dollar store.
The purpose of the white board is to list all the odd jobs that need doing around the house. It’s a reminder, and once the deeds are accomplished, you feel great wiping it off.
So now I need this gigantic board in my kitchen to constantly mock me for failing to get crap done?
The other day, I walked in and stared at the board in confusion. In the right corner was the words “Fat Boy” and a number. Is Fat Boy a nickname for a famous football player? Is that his jersey number? No, can’t be, you don’t have triple-digit jersey numbers.
No, it’s my husband’s weight. He is Fat Boy. It’s a reminder that he needs to lose some weight.
Before I knew it, my daughter had drug me off to the basement to face the ultimate humiliation of the scale. We now have “Fat Mom” and “Fat Girl” written below “Fat Boy.” I’ve been mightily tempted to wipe it off, but you know, having that number sitting there for everyone to see is definitely helping me avoid temptation. I reach for the fridge handle, see the white board, and have a single bite of my husband’s birthday derby pie instead of a slice. The downside? Now anyone who comes into my house knows just how badly I need to follow up on my New Year’s Resolution to lose some stinking weight.
They also know I need to clean the carpets, wash the walls, and oil the woodwork.
I hate the white board.
alisaacarter
Alisa A. Carter 