Memoirs of a Fat Girl

I still don't know how much I weigh. Like all fatties of the world, I'm terrified to look at the numbers on the scale. Herbal Magic insists on weekly weighings and I do my best to comply... backwards. It's stupid and childish, but hey, that's me. So I actually step on the scale backwards, away from dreaded numbers while Daria, my counsellor there, holds a file and ticks things off with her pen. She has promised not to tell me what the numbers are until I'm good and ready.

When will I be good and ready? When I've officially gone down a size, of course. When will that happen? If Harry Potter was my boyfriend and I could borrow his wand for just a sec it would happen right this very minute. All six to eight sizes less would happen this very minute, but alas, Harry Potter isn't real (and is cradle meat for a woman my age, what could I be thinking), so I'm gunning to be a whole size less by the end of next week. End of next week is also when I leave for Jordan.

Out of curiosity though, what would Harry Potter's weight-inducing spell be?

Weight-Lossica!
Disappearus Poundigia!
Slimensia Inducta!
Smallicus right this Minitus!

Or better yet, the All is Well for All Time spell: Everythingis Perfectus!

Lovely, though. But then if Harry could use "Everythingis Perfectus," I suppose Voldemort wouldn't constantly be on his ass, and after butchering his parents, no less. What does it say about the rest of us when a fictional character with super powers can't even have what he wants?

I shall be ready when I am officially one size less. I want that to be soon.