I’ve always prided myself on being an honest person, for the most part. I mean, there are those little white lies you tell, “sorry I’m late, I forgot about the time change and didn’t set my clock,” or, “my, that dress makes you look ten pounds lighter.” I like to think of it as being thrifty with the truth. Whatever.
Speaking of being pounds lighter, I was notified that I would need to report to the DMV, to renew my driver’s license. I was a little perturbed by this, because they had been renewing it through the mail for twelve years. I was perfectly content with keeping that particular photo, no matter how old I had become.
So, after waiting over an hour in a long line, listening to sighs and complaints, I reached the clerk at the counter. She looked at my application and asked, “Is all of your information the same?”
I was about to say yes, but some unseen force commanded me to say, “No.”
She looked up. “What has changed?”
“My weight.” I hadn’t changed the weight from the time I applied for my very first driver’s license, at age sixteen. My license claimed I was a lithe, one hundred and fifteen pounds. I figured if I ever had an accident, they would be looking all over for me, underneath the fat woman.
She blinked, and then stared at me, as if I were about a half-bubble off plumb, for admitting to such a thing. “What weight should I put down for you?”
“145.” I lied again! I had actually topped my single birth maternity weight, and was pushing for twins. Of course, if the DMV were smart, they would have a scale with a billboard-size display. You would be fined for every pound exceeded on your driver’s license. Not to mention, everyone in the building could see what you weigh. It sure would take care of the state’s financial deficit. And obesity would be a thing of the past.
She wrote down my answer and sent me over for another picture. I’ve always wondered why they don’t offer finger-size peanut butter sandwiches before they take the shot. This way, when you’re sucking in your cheeks and using your tongue to scrape the peanut butter off the roof of your mouth, they could get an even more attractive photo than they already do.
Know what’s ironic? My doctor finally convinced me to lose weight by threatening me with cholesterol medication. So, now I’m down to one hundred and twenty pounds. That’s only five pounds away from the original weight on my license. Just goes to show, you should let sleeping dogs lie.