My sisters and I have a family ritual we’ve been practicing for more years than we care to admit. It’s not like most other family rituals. Well, not like any others we’ve ever heard of. It probably started when my two sisters, Laura and Martha, and I noticed that we could no longer inhale great masses of ice cream, brisket, bagels and Mom’s chocolate cake without picking up a spare tire or two. Teenage years of effortless skinniness evaporated when we reached the age of majority. No longer did people look at us and tsk tsk because they assumed our mother never fed us. To say it was a bit of a shock when the pounds crept on is an understatement. I mean, I was the girl who, in college, ate potato chips and Mallomars for breakfast but couldn’t meet the 110-pound blood donation requirement! Shaped pretty much along the same lines as I am, my sisters had similar moments of truth. And had similar outraged reactions: Now you want us to diet? Actually pay attention to what we eat? If our pants were too tight, well, they must’ve shrunk because we could not be possibly gaining weight. Absolutely not!
Ah, but we were. No one can deny gravity forever. Enter the ritual. We’ve grown almost fond of it over the decades, even though to some it could be considered, well, is masochistic too strong a word? It’s called “Who’s the Fattest Levine Sister?,” a name we thought was pretty pithy and to the point.
Here’s how we play it: When we get together, we immediately huddle to assess how we all look. (“Martha, you look really great.” “Really? I don’t look huge?” “Wait. Stand sideways. Nope, you look great.” “And, Laura, is that a size 8 you’re wearing?”)
Which is, of course, window dressing for the carnage to come: revealing our actual weight. It’s always a crapshoot. The skinniest one gets to be the Thinnest Levine Sister for the rest of the visit, which means looking smug, even if her advantage is in grams. The heaviest one wails, “I’m the Fattest Levine Sister!” and proceeds to stomp around the house while we assure her she looks fabulous but privately revel in, “I’m thinner than yooouuuu.” Our mother rolls her eyes and throws up her hands, our husbands duck for cover, and our brother’s skinny wife wisely keeps her distance.
Oh, we’ve made attempts to regain our former selves. Martha hired a personal trainer. Laura walks three miles a day. I tried a pineapple powder mix that made me so flatulent, my family begged me to stop. We’ve tried rethinking our relationship to food and found out, hey! We like it! We really like it! Step classes, yoga, weight-lifting. And we’ve learned to count: count calories, count fat grams, count carbs, count points, count the milliseconds until we can get off this *%#@% treadmill or exercycle. We’ve done it all. And at times, the weight comes off. We celebrate, buy slinky new clothes and then, the pounds creep right back on. And we’re back to debating our status in the Levine pecking order.
Now we’ve decided the problem lies elsewhere. So we’ve developed some other coping strategies that we would like to share with you, because that’s the kind of giving, loving, caring women we are. Do you dread the scale? Forget Atkins, forget the Zone. Don’t worry for now about good nutrition and exercise. We know how you can drop five pounds instantly. It all has to do with proper weighing technique. Herewith, our tried and true . . . .
The Only Correct Way to Weigh Yourself:
1. First thing in the morning. (Better yet, while you’re still asleep. Maybe you’re dreaming!)
2. AFTER you’ve gone to the bathroom and BEFORE you’ve eaten.
3. Stark naked.
4. AFTER you’ve brushed your teeth (plaque can add pounds).
5. Lean this way or that to make the scale needle move. Who is to say which is the correct point?
6. Weight usually varies by a pound each time you step up. Accept the number that appears two out of three times unless that’s the higher number; in which case, go for three out of five.
7. Subtract a pound if your hair is wet.
8. Subtract two pounds if you are wearing underwear.
9. Subtract four pounds if you’ve had Chinese food the day before, or actually anytime it’s humid outside and your rings are tight.
10. Subtract 20 pounds if you have your period.
11. Never use anyone’s scale but your own. Everyone else’s is way off, unless it reads thinner. Then never use your own again.
We have used each of these scientific methods in preparation for “Who’s the Fattest Levine Sister?” But lately we’ve decided that our little exercise is setting a terrible example for our impressionable children. We want our daughters to have good, healthy, realistic body images. We want our sons to acknowledge that women come in all sizes. Feminists all, my sisters and I have decided we need to stop calibrating and start celebrating our bodies, our health and our abilities. To show our children the sheer glory of being a woman in all her complexity. And we do, we do. How? Now when we get together, we go off to a separate room so our children can’t hear us when we debate “Who’s the Fattest Levine Sister?” Hey, it’s progress.
Beth Levine is a writer whose essays have appeared in Redbook, Chicago Tribune, USA Weekend and Newsday.
This article appears in Jan 12-18, 2005.
