My husband and I borrowed a friend’s house for the weekend a few weeks back, while he was in Europe. A late-night unglamorous search for toilet paper led us to the master bathroom. There we looked in the obvious places. The linen cupboard – no, only a sad looking 1/16 of a roll – and under the two sinks. The first sink turned up nothing. The cabinet under the second sink turned up 8 bags of flour. Flour? Really? Really.
The bags of flour were nearly identical – all Gold Medal – all white – all 5 pounds. The only difference in the bags was the numbers that had been written across them, 197, 192, etc. My husband and I were stunned and we (ok, I) began some pretty wild speculation. “Weights for a sex swing,” I suggested. “Is there a scale?” my husband asked. “Yes.” “Maybe it’s to see if the scale is reading accurately?” he suggested. “But why 8, and why the numbers?” I replied.
My husband looked at the bags again, paying close attention to the numbers written on the bags again. “I know, I know!” he crowed.
“Alright, dazzle me.”
“The numbers written on the bags are in 5 pound increments. This first number, 197, is about Jason’s weight. This must be the amount of pounds he wants to lose and each time he loses 5 pounds he gets to get rid of a bag!” My husband paused, “although there’s no way he can mean to lose 40 pounds, that would be way, way to thin.”
While Jason never confirmed the theory, instead dodging our intrusive texts, his girlfriend did. Apparently, the bags of flour are used as a visual representation of the extra pounds some of us carry around. You use one bag for every 5 pounds you want to lose. Does this work? I don’t know. I can’t ask Jason because he won’t admit or deny the theory. All I know is that this system would never work for me because every time I lost 5 pounds, I’d use the flour to make bread or cookies, or something else that would put those 5 pounds right back on. Because otherwise, what a waste of perfectly good flour.