This is one of those stories where if I were telling it to you folks, I would ask if you wanted the good news or the bad news first. Since I can't do that, I'll start with the good news.

First the good news. I met some friends after work today for a drink (at least they were drinking, I stuck to seltzer water). When I got to the place where I was supposed to meet them, they were all sitting outside on a patio on those little, dinky plastic chairs that they sell all over the place and that don't work for fat people. I looked at them in dread -- remembering unpleasant experiences of being unable to fit in them -- decided to try one, and fit in comfortably, although without any extra room to spare.

Now for the bad news. The reason I was going out with these friends for drinks (they go most Fridays, but I don't usually join them) is that I needed to kill an hour before meeting my husband at the house of one of the bigwigs in the organization where he works. We were invited there for a dinner/reception at 7 p.m. They had plastic folding chairs set up around the living room. I sat in one for quite a while, ate my dinner and made conversation, and then got up and moved to a different chair to talk to some other people. When I sat in the second chair, it broke with a loud crack! All those years of weighing over 300 and I never broke a chair and now I went and broke one! Everyone was very nice and assured me that it must have been cracked before I sat in it -- and they are probably right because I didn't break the other chair -- but why did I have to be the person to break it! Even if it was cracked previously (and who knows if it was), I probably wouldn't have broken it if I weighed less. I just wanted to go home and hide, but couldn't, so I stayed and tried to be as charming as possible -- you know the, "Isn't it a shame she is so fat, she's such a lovely person" routine.