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Barry and I were out browsing yesterday at Dunelm Mill, a shop that sells household items, decorations, etc. We meandered through the bathroom section and came upon a wall of bathroom scales. Barry pulled a scale down, set it on the floor and climbed aboard. Then I heard: "That can't be right. Naw, that's wrong there, hi." I looked down at the number he was locked in on--10. He weighed 10 stone (there are 14 pounds in a stone for my American readers. So he weighed 140 pounds). Not much right? At least in my opinion anyway.
Not pleased with his weight on scale number one, he pulled another scale from the wall and climbed on. Then, I heard: "Something's wrong with these 2 scales here. Naw I've always weighed 8 stone." I glance down and see the number 10 yet again before saying, "Well, they can't all be wrong." After he went on to rationalize his two stone weight gain by saying the clothes he had on were heavy, big boots, etc. blah blah blah, I felt like smacking him.
You see Barry has always had trouble gaining weight. Until he quit smoking about a year and a half ago that is. Of course, the half gallons of vanilla ice cream and half of a whole apple crumble in the evening for dessert doesn't help him much either as far as keeping his boyish figure. I, on the other hand, have always had trouble keeping the weight off. If I don't watch every morsel that passes through my lips and exercise til I'm blue in the face, I'll gain weight.
Up until our recent trip to Dunelm Mill, I kept telling Barry his trousers were getting too small, but he didn't believe me all the time arguing that they weren't (even though he had red marks pressing in on his skin from his tight jeans and could barely breath). I guess even men take weight gain hard. Needless to say, next weekend we won't be browsing for household items again...nope, we'll be going trouser shopping for fat arse...er, I mean Barry.