When I was a kid, things were different than they are now. Grocery shopping meant getting whole, unprepared foods, kids went outside to play no matter what the season was, the family would get together and sit at a table to eat dinner that mom made from scratch, and having a snack meant to go get an orange or have some popcorn. Microwaves just came out and dining at a fast food restaurant was an occassional treat.
I remember when the McDonalds in Mechanicville was the cool, new place in town. It was in eye-shot from the big Episcopal church where we went on Sunday morning. You could walk out of those gothicly tall, red double doors and see those golden arches one short block away. It was an easy walk for a hungry youngster but I wasn't allowed to go anywhere alone yet. I still wanted those burgers; they were so mouth-watering as long as they had no onions.
The special order "no onion" was a problem at McDonalds. They premade all the food. And who knows how long it sat under heat lamps before you ate it. So the "no onion" request was futile at best. They always said it couldn't be done. And they were right. The little onion chunks would set up into the bun and it was nearly impossible to not taste them. My only hope was to go there when our family friend, David, worked the counter. He would go to the grill guy to ask him to make one up before the onions were pressed onto the bun and then bring the freshly compiled ketchup-mustard-pickle masterpiece to the hopeful little 9 year old girl behind the counter. A lot of time has gone by since those days.
I was a semi-slender kid but I was always tall. As a matter of fact, I was the second tallest person in my class all through grade school. Valerie was my only classmate who was taller than me. My self image wasn't horrible but it wasn't great either. It was the 70's. If you had blonde hair and you didn't look like Farrah, or if you were a brunette and didn't look like Daisy Duke, there was something wrong with you. The movie Grease made hot pants and satin jackets popular. Nair paved the way for us to want to wear short shorts. How could you possibly measure up? We tried anyways.
So I rambled on a little. Just what is my confession? I don't like being weighed. That's it. I didn't like it when I was a teen and I still don't like the idea of getting on a scale as an adult. Actually, I don't know many women who do. How many of us take our shoes off before they weigh us at the doctor's office? I do every time. That extra 10 ounces could throw me over one pound more than I actually am. I understand this and try to keep in mind that I don't have to be so hard on myself. Afterall, we have work with what we have been given.