Man Piece and I have been having a debate about weight today. He wants to know mine and I don’t want to tell him.
Let me back-track a bit.
Since moving to Sydney both Man Piece and I have put on weight. It is probably due to being less active than we were in Auckland. A side-effect of our circumstances.
However, we’ve decided to get real about it and this morning Man Piece went and bought a pair of scales.
He quite willingly told me what he weighed, but I shut him out of the bathroom and refuse to tell him what I weigh now.
I guess I am embarrassed about what I weigh. I probably won’t tell anyone else what I currently weigh, so the fact I don’t want to tell Man Piece is nothing different.
I’m not really sure why I’m so embarrassed about it. Probably because I am the biggest I have ever been in my life.
But, at the same time, I’m more body positive than I have ever been. I don’t want to hide my body anymore, but instead flaunt the best assets. And I’ve gotten to a point where I don’t care about my size, I’m happy and kind of in a “whatever will be, will be” phase about it.
So why do I care about what I weigh? It’s just a number after all and does not actually tell you whether you are healthy or not. You can be healthy at any size, no matter what other people think.
Through all of this, an interesting question has been posed – would you tell your significant other what you weigh if they asked?