Feeling the love in "image therapy"

Within about thirty seconds of the start of “image therapy” I was planning my exit and figuring out if there was a way to get from where I was sat to the door without causing any offence to anyone.

I pondered to myself that if I was the Milk Tray man I’d be able to navigate the short distance through a series of rolls and back flips without detection – then I looked around the room and thought that any man who would try and escape the clutches of these ladies whilst carrying chocolate would be a braver one than me.

Our group leader starts off by telling us about her week, how she has battled with the urge for a fish finger sandwich when feeding her kids but that it would be okay to have had it – “so long as you count those sins!”

Then we went around the group, with each member’s weekly achievement read out before they were invited to share their experiences of the time since they’d last attended.

One woman's weekly tale had the whole class cheering. 

GL: “Sharon, you’ve put two pounds on this week, how has that happened?”

Fat lady called Sharon: “Well you see it’s not my fault, I blame my husband”

Huge round of applause from everyone in the group (except me and my mate)

“He made my tea for me coming in tonight – I told him I couldn’t eat it because I had fat class but he looked at me with that sad pathetic face of his, you know what they are like”

A second round of applause followed.

GL: “And was it something unhealthy he’d made Sharon?”

Sharon: “no, it was the spag bol out of the Slimming World recipe book I bought last week. I’m really annoyed with him because I have been so good all week and he has blown it for me.”

I looked Sharon up and down. She was a big lass, but no way on this earth had she eaten two pounds of spaghetti. I’m not sure it is physically possible to eat two pounds of spaghetti.

Then came the truth.

GL: “Are you sure you’d not had anything else you shouldn’t have done.”

Sharon: “We’ll, I finished off the garlic bread that we’d got from the pizza shop the night before with it.”

GL: “Pizza shop?”

Sharon: “I only had a nine inch meat feast, I’d had a bad day at work, and I needed a takeaway.”

Yet another round of applause followed. I'm not sure image therapy is for me.