A Big Loser

I'm married to a great big loser.  No, no, it's true.  Don't try to convince me otherwise.

Angela entered a contest at work, where everybody put in money and then the three who lost the most weight got a share of the pot.  But it wasn't quite clear if it was based on BMI, or inches, or weight, or what.  So she tells me this, and I came up with a brilliant plan:

You go to the weigh in wearing a parka stuffed with fishing weights and with big, heavy boots.  Then you go to the final weigh-in wearing a skimpy string bikini.  Everybody wins!  I even offered to drive her to the final weigh-in.

But Angela, being fair-minded and obsessed with "the rules" insisted that she wasn't going to cheat to win.  I say, if it's worth winning, it's worth cheating for, which is why nobody in the family ever lets me deal when we play cards.

So anyways, after several weeks, the final weigh-in comes.  Angela's lost 8.5 pounds (a little better than one a week) and several inches, so she's all excited about finding out what happens.  She insists, all afternoon, that we need to go back to the rec center because on the paper it says the winners will be posted right after the final weigh-in.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"It's on the paper!" she says, shaking the paper like a totem.  "See!"

So we go back, and sure enough, it's not posted.  But one of the women there does know that she's the ultimate winner of the contest.  And anybody who would know anything more isn't there.

All weekend, Angela's mad.  Which I think is vaguely funny, but keep to myself for my own personal health.  Every time she walks by the paper, she says "posted that afternoon my..." grumble grumble grumble.

The whole spectacle is pretty funny, at least, it's funny in retrospect because SHE WON SECOND PLACE!

And more importantly, she won cash.  Yee-haw!  I was very proud of her.

Hot off her victory, she enters a second contest at work, slightly shorter this time, and apparently possessed by a strong case of megalomania, when asked what her goal is she says "Ten pounds!"

When I got home she was trying to hacksaw off her arm.  Which is stupid, because the blade on the hacksaw's not going to cut through bone, so I gave her the jigsaw, which is better for such things.