A Buck Sixty-Five. That’s what Bryan claims he weighs. It’s truly endearing how he tries to make me feel better in my advanced stage of pregnancy, proclaiming a “lofty” weight, thinking that there’s no way that I’ll hit that mark and thus will not feel quite so large.
Think again.
I can’t comprehend how he could possibly know how much he really weighs because I doubt that he has stepped on our bathroom scale in the last year.
Seriously.
Unlike me.
I weigh myself daily, if not more.
Seriously.
So, we are left to speculate about his true weight.
I ask you, my friends, if you think that the man in this picture, my wonderful husband, would even tip the scale at “a buck forty.” And for the past few weeks that I’ve been on vacation in Utah distanced from BT, I’m awfully worried that he’s had to punch some new holes in his belt to keep his pants up. A few nights ago, his dinner consisted of a can of diet root beer.
Until I get home (in a week and a half), if you happen to see Bryan out and about, will you please remind him to EAT!
