It’s that time again. Time for the weekly weigh-in.

To say I was not excited about this week’s moment of reckoning would be an understatement. The thing is, vacation is hard. But what is harder than any old vacation is being at your sister’s house, helping with a new baby, sitting in front of the t.v. half the day (speaking of which, I have discovered a myriad of t.v. shows I had no idea existed, but now feel I cannot live without) and lying by the pool the other half, with the occasional run thrown in, all the while having Baskin-Robbins’ World Class Chocolate ice-cream calling to me from the freezer like a forbidden lover throwing pebbles at my window, until I finally gave in. Did I mention that I am an emotional eater?

You laugh, but this is serious. I would wake up in the morning to hear the gentle whisperings of the ice-cream, “Chloe, you know you want me. Just one little bite won’t hurt. You can even write it down. Measure out a few ounces, weigh it on the scale and calculate the points. You don’t have to finish me off, but have a little. Just a taste. No one ever needs to know.” So, I would try and resist by going for a run, or heading out by the pool, but then the moment I set foot back into the house, the persuasive efforts of my long lost love would continue.

Just like the wanton “bad boy” that I know I shouldn’t be with, but often can’t resist, the temptation of such sweetness was more than I could take. I gave in. And it was delicious. The cool, creamy ribbons of white chocolate mouse and chocolate decadence were worth it…in the moment. But, as with the fiance that everyone told me I should shouldn’t marry, the truth eventually came out. And the truth was that most of what World Class told me was lies. Yes, I wanted him, but he manipulated me. He knows it’s never “just a bite”. He knows I’m weak when it comes to resisting his charms and he played me like a fiddle.

He also told me no one would know…but someone did know and that someone was Fanny, a.k.a. my arse. Fanny who loves all things chocolate, but especially when it’s in the form of ice cream. Fanny who, today, kept insisting that I could put off going to Weight Watchers until Saturday. I could not eat tomorrow and then run my nine miles on Saturday and it would be okay. I could just weigh in on Saturday, after running. No harm, no foul.

I patiently listen to Fanny and her rationalizations, and then politely, but firmly, shot down her attempts at dissuading me from my goal. The thing is, Fanny knew that if the numbers on that scale had not moved down, or worse yet, gone up, I would no longer be indulging my passion for ice-cream and she would start shrinking again.

After deciding I would go to my meeting, I weighed myself on my scale just to prepare myself for the shock. Although, considering I haven’t used my scale very much since beginning the program, so I’m not totally sure how mine and the one at WW compare, that didn’t really do anything to prepare me. It did, however, allow me to try on multiple outfits to ensure that I was wearing as little as possible in the weight sense…not the slut sense. In case you are wondering, matte jersey, while a nice summer fabric, happens to be very heavy. Is this cheating? Maybe a little, but the truth is, I couldn’t handle the truth if the truth happened to be that I had gained weight.

Now, before I reveal what happened next, let me also tell you that I didn’t completely fall off the wagon. With all of the running I did, and Karma’s bonus points for using all of my vacation time to be my sister’s nanny/chef/maid/housekeeper/personal shopper (yes, I believe that Karma will help me lose weight), I knew it couldn’t be that bad. Plus, there were only a couple of days when I went way over my points. While I was consuming a lot of ice-cream, I was not consuming a lot of other things. You know, the healthy things with which I should be nourishing my body. I went ahead and left those items right in the fridge, just like the nice nerd I know I should date, but never want to (okay, maybe not never, but not when there are other, more exciting options).

So, without further ado…drum roll please…I lost two pounds! That’s right. Apparently exercise, Karma and skimpy clothing combined forces to combat the adverse effects of indulging my sweet tooth for eight days. However, I know I cannot expect to be so lucky this week, so back on the wagon I go, now that I just killed off a salad from Cafe Rio and washed it down with cookies and milk. Hey, the week was already shot, why not finish it with a bang?…like one last kiss before saying goodbye. Wish me luck!