Today I was once again reminded how my weekly weigh in and weight loss meeting is more of a religious experience for me than actually going to church.
There is definitely prayer. No one prays harder than a woman on a scale.
There's confession and contrition as I review the journal of every morsel of food I've put in my mouth over the past week. And the food I conveniently forgot to write down. And the food I was too horrified to write down.
There's a bible. It's confusing too - with numbers and calories and fat grams and points and exchanges.
There's a sermon about what I'm supposed to do, or not do.
I feel moved to be a better person. A thinner, healthier person. A person who doesn't hate exercise. The kind of person who will go forth and eat Mexican food no more. (This usually lasts about two hours.)
There's an offering. What - you thought you could lose weight for free? Then you must be a guy and probably don't even care about the number on the scale.
What's even worse is I'm better behaved. I must be more afraid of getting fat than I am of ticking off Jesus, because I do not play with my cell phone, doodle, whisper or watch Sex and the City in my head. I concentrate. And unlike church where I dress to the nines, I never care about how I look. I even wear the same outfit every single Tuesday ever since I determined it weighed less than anything else I own. Yes, there was valuable time involved where I could have fed the poor or ministered to the homeless, but instead I weighed all my clothes.
One more similarity - just as soon as it's over, I'm headed to Starbucks.
There's always next week.