I usually seek out Pammi's advice first thing every morning. It's my own fault, really. I should know better than to ask, "Do you think I look fat in this?" Pammi is the only one brave enough to give me an honest answer ... at least about my weight issues. Pammi never lies to me ... not even when lying would be preferable to the harsh reality of the truth. Pammi's blatant honesty cuts me to the core and can send me into a fit of uncontrolled weeping. With the onset of such emotions, I sometimes find it best to put some distance between me and Pammi. The distance is necessary for Pammi's personal safety. I've been tempted to pummel poor Pammi at times. Occasionally there are those rare days when Pammi is sweet and tells me what my flesh wants to hear. On those days, Pammi is my new best friend. Our relationship is turbulent and unpredictable at best. I wait to see how my day will pan out based on Pammi's opinion of me. I know I'm not being fair to Pammi. After all, I'm the one who put Pammi in the position of power over me. But still, it would be nice if Pammi wasn't so dad gum honest all the time.
Who is this Pammi person and why have I let her control my life, you may ask? Pammi isn't actually a person, but an inanimate object I've willingly brought into my home that has controlled me for years - no, make that, decades! Pammi is an acronym for my bathroom scale. Pammi stands for: Personality Altering Mood Monitoring Instrument. That's my PAMMI.
The perfect Pammi pose finds me perched precariously on tippy toes, tummy sucked in, buttocks squeezed taut, breath held to within an inch of unconsciousness. I stand tall in all my glory, dressed in my birthday suit. (I don't like to complain, but my birthday suit doesn't suit me as well as it once did. It's no longer wrinkle free or a one-size-fits-all suit. I really should think about sending it out to have it altered.) My Pammi gives me an accurate digital accounting of my recent food indiscretions and pinpoints my total body fat to an exact percentage point. Technology has removed all possibility for error. Darn it! I miss the days when by merely shifting my weight from one foot to the other, the little needle could magically jump back a good two pounds. Those were the days.
Technology has invented bathroom scales that can talk to us now. They say smarmy little things like, "Have a nice day!" after they've announced loud and clear to your entire household, your exact weight. Which of course is followed by the amount of poundage you've gained since your last weigh in. Puh-lease. Who invented this torture device? If I had a talking scale, I would at least like to be able to program in my own responses - the same way I select my personal ring tones on my cell phone. For example, I could ask my talking scale, "Do I look fat in this?" It could answer me in a voice that I know will be an exact imitation of Jack Nicholson: "You want the truth? You can't handle the truth!" No, it's probably better if I steer clear from a scale that can talk back to me. I already heap enough verbal abuse upon my person as it is without inviting Jack into my boudoir.
I recently made the decision to go "cold turkey" from my morning weigh-ins. I started by weaning myself to only one weigh-in per week, then one per month. Which is considerably less than my previous neurotic thrice daily weigh-ins. It used to be: eat, weigh, exercise; eat, weigh, exercise; eat, weigh, exercise, cry uncontrollably. Are you seeing the pattern? I let my daily weigh-ins determine the mood for the day. Weight goes up - temper skyrocketed with it. Weight goes down - and all was right with my world. I'm not entirely sure at what point I started bowing down to this plastic/metal rectangular idol - but bow down and worship, I did! Flooded with guilt and shame, I made a decision to bury Pammi in my closet and not let her out, no matter how much she begged.
It's been months since I've consulted Pammi. When I feel myself tempted to backslide and seek Pammi's counsel, I stop and remind myself, "thou shalt have no other God before me, and thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image." If I maintain a healthy balance of proper eating and "normal" exercise, it would stand to reason, the way my clothes fit should be a proper gauge for my current weight. Isaiah 54:17 says, No weapon formed against you will prosper. I invited Satan into my house everyday and let him control me through my bathroom scale for a long time. But no more. I've kicked the devil out and finally put Pammi in her place. Everybody seems to have a PAMMI of some sort, at one time or another in life. What's your PAMMI?
Thank you Lord for removing the blinders from my eyes and helping me to see the tool Satan was using for my emotional destruction. I pray you will give me strength to resist the devil's temptations. Help me to keep everything in balance, including my weight-loss efforts and issues. I know that the thief comes only to steal, kill and destroy; but you have come so that I may have life to the full in abundance. Amen
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