Watching and Weighting

"I am fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat, fat-fat-fat FAT," Estelle declared at the dinner table. For the first time in her life, her 5'3" frame was above a stone's weight and her dress size was no longer the equivalent of a toddler's age. "All my weight has come back," she continued referring to the few pounds on her fuller frame as a family member who was clearly estranged, unwanted and unwelcome.

I have heard people use this phrase my entire life. "Lord, all her weight has come back," seems to indicate a surprise visit over which the host has little control. Gently, it allows that one could wake up one morning and mysteriously find an extra thirty to fifty pounds of girth that would only be met with her friends covertly inquiring, "I wonder what happened?" It is as if one's no-good, no-job having, womanizing, always drunk husband has decided to abruptly return from his nefarious adventures in Holly Springs. It is all dead weight.

"I'm gonna have to buy pants with rubber in the waist," Estelle's rant continued. Despite her proclamation for elastic-waisted pants, I was sure Irene from Bella Donna would never approach Estelle's dressing room with anything above a size 8. In fact, friends, strangers and sales girls from Knoxville to Neiman Marcus would still assert her to be "tiny." "Good Lord Jesus on the cross, I got biiiiiig." The last word being completely guttural and lasting almost a minute. Obviously, Estelle thought they were all wrong.

Driving down Four Seasons Boulevard in late summer, many teens who have never left the Appalachians haven mistaken my mom's Navigator for images of hip-hop icons perpetuated by MTV. "I bet I even have the sugar." Estelle's hands gripped the mahogany steering wheel and the speed increased during her self-diagnosis of diabetes. We were into day two of this hissy fit and I was glad the windows were tinted and that every policeman from here to Jackson county knew her on a fist-name basis.

Somewhere between the Bojangles and Wanda's Fruit Stand Estelle found a solution. "Do you have time to go to Rose's Plaza?" Being unsure why she inquired, I was shifted mid-air as Estelle crossed four lanes of traffic and headed to the shopping center that everyone still referred to by the name of the now debunked discount store. I was still silent as the Navigator stopped inches from the glass store front decorated portent: Weight Watchers.

My family has a long relationship with Weight Watchers that dates back to my grandmother. Neither removing her crown nor sash as a former beauty queen from South Carolina, my grandmother was most likely a founding member of a secret organization of which vanity was its sole purpose. Never struggling with her weight, she stepped from the stage into the church-basement meetings as a supporter of her friend, Dottie. In her role, she dutifully weighed in and then would drag poor Dottie off to Lineberger's Fishery where she delighted in fried delicacies of the Calabash while never topping a size 6. Dottie was sentenced to salads and my grandmother's exclusive brand of comfort, "It must be glandular." We call her Big Granny because of her personality, not her waist line.

"You're going with me. Get out of the car," Estelle remedied. I had not seen her this serious about a health issue since she diagnosed my self-induced alcoholism contracted during my tenure at a Baptist seminary. Recounting that escapade, I got out of the car.

"Welcome to Weight Watchers," the matronly, yet extremely thin, woman chirped. "How can I help you?" Estelle looked at the woman and cocked her head as if she were trying to figure out the rhetorical nature of her inquiry. She slid down her sunglasses and met the young mother's eye. Estelle has this disturbing ability to cease the sound of any given word during a sentence while her mouth continues to form the syllables. She saves this super power for words of shame: homely, ugly, fat. Moving uncomfortably close to the young woman, she invoked this gift. "I _am_fat," her voice was low and soft with the last word left to the young woman's ability to read lips.

Stepping on the scale, Estelle was proud and determined as her secret conference about weight found her crouched and huddled near the youngster and her scale display. Her whispered tones did not influence the young woman as she blathered loudly, "You really need to drop no more than six pounds. Good for you." I feared for that young woman's life as she breeched a cardinal sin of discussing a lady's weight in public.

It was my turn and I stepped to the scale noticing Estelle had come to my side. With a curt smile, the young woman wrote on a piece of paper and folded it. My small waist provided no reason to fear the paper being secretly handed to me. I opened it and was shocked at a number that revealed the scales at the health club were off about nineteen pounds. Estelle patted my shoulder and sighed, "really, you don't look that biiiiiig." I was the new Dottie.

Estelle was tenuous as we sat in the folded chairs amongst fellow members darned in floral print capris stretched over their burgeoning bellies and feet overflowing the constraints of flip flops. "Maybe this wasn't my best idea, "Estelle whispered as she religiously straightened her St. John's knits and clasped her latest Cole-Haan purse. "Let's stay for the meeting," I was barely convincing as I resigned to my new life of side salads.

"Congratulations to Neelah. She lost the most weight this week at 1.8 pounds." With this announcement, Estelle's stance changed. Gone was the meek and uncomfortable resignation of being fat and in its place the fierce competitor for vanity. Estelle gives little parlance to the world of sports and pronounces the grunting and sweating of females on a playing field as "purely vulgar." Yet, with this swift announcement of a weekly weight-loss champion, a yearning akin to a young Michael Jordan championing the Tarheels to an NCAA championship was released. Her sunglasses pulled down and her eyes telling all next week that will be me, oh yes, it will be me.

The fury of the week was aided by Estelle's religious dedication to working out, her pocket calculator and tracking her caloric points. "Two points under," my dad and I heard many nights throughout the week. In the Midwest for business, I received a text that simply read, "Off to workout. I feel great because my trousers are already SO BIG! How are your points? Love, Estelle." Michael had surely passed her the ball.

"God, I can't wait to weigh in," Estelle cheered as if she was physically restraining her hand from slapping me the high five. Flowing in her Neiman Marcus de rigueur she stepped to the scale. Hands held high and an audible "Yesssssss!" filled the room. Obviously, Estelle scored and it glowed on her face as she waltzed pass me, smiling on her way to find seats.

Content with my progress, I walked to Estelle already circled by five women seeking her advice. This resembled a ladies prayer meeting more than a gathering of food addicts. "Trudy, you can do this." Estelle's petite hands clasping and comforting the discouraged woman. Within minutes, Estelle had prescribed care obviously missing in the woman's life. "You have me now and we will get through this together, Trudy, but you have to help me." Sometimes, you witness Estelle's true super power. She makes you feel like the most special person on the earth. Trudy smiled, not releasing my mother's hand as she moved to her side as the meeting began.

"Congratulations to Estelle. She lost 3.8 lbs! This is her first week too. Tell us about it." Still holding Trudy's hand, Estelle stood and softly spoke, "This is really for all of us whether it is your first week or fifth year. It's about believing and I really believe in me." At this point, I could see that Estelle was the daughter of a beauty queen. She continued, "I lost the weight because I had support and people who cared and reminded me I should care and I kept thinking about how bad it feels to be fat. People make fun of you and you feel awkward and odd and you don't like yourself. I just want us all to feel good about ourselves and believe. I just believe." The room fell silent and Estelle squeezed Trudy's hand.

After the meeting, we climbed in the Navigator and I broke the silence with the common, "Well, what did you think?" Estelle responded, "I loved it. It was like AA but better." The confusion on my face expressed the shock of my mom's familiarity with AA. "Oh, I used to go with my clients all the time." I sighed realizing this should not have surprised me. Estelle is always there when you need her. She continued, "How did you do this week?" I smiled and slowly said magic numbers, "Three_point_two!" Again I heard the familiar sound of victory for her, "YESSSSSSS!"

"Oh there is one more thing." These words fell out of her mouth as she turned the mahogany steering wheel. "What about that woman talking about mixing those cheddar rice cakes with fat free lime jello? Lord, I thought I was going to vom-ick. You know, I think she might be from New Jersey. She better be careful with that foolishness or her weight might come back."