Admit it. You do it. So do I. When you’re eating healthy and trying to lose weight, you get on the scale more than you should…right? When I get up in the morning, one of the first things I do is stagger onto the scale. I can’t help it. I’m curious. It’s like I don’t even know what I’m doing…I just gravitate toward it. If the number stays the same, I’m alright. If it goes down, I’m ecstatic for the rest of the day. But if that number goes up…hell hath no fury like a Princess Dianne who’s given up all her vices and doesn’t see any progress. Hella bad news. Does anyone else do this to themselves? That electronic bastard in our bathrooms has way too much power over us, doesn’t it?
In fact, years ago when we still lived in California I was so frustrated with my lack of progress that I jokingly offered up a sacrifice to the scale in hopes that it would start to budge again. What did I sacrifice? A Hostess Ding Dong, of course.
Mr. Scale, why do you taunt us so?
Yes, I said Mr. Scale. Of course the scale has to be a man, right ladies? Sorry, guys. I’m not associating Mr. Scale with all you men (especially not the good ones), I promise. But my love/hate relationship with the scale does seem to parallel my relationships with some of the worst men I ever dated.
Here’s how I see it: He’s always laying around the house, not doing anything. Sure, he looks good and technically he’s there when I want him. But no matter what I do or how hard I try, sooner or later I end up feeling bad about myself. Not to mention I always have to be on top. Need I say more? 🙂 What a jerk!
I’m sure some men have their issues with the scale as well – but we women seem to bear the brunt of the scale’s wrath thanks to the miracle of our reproductive systems. We’re always bloating, contracting, cramping, or retaining water. The word “uterus”, as you know, is greek for “she who gains a pound for no effing reason”. Look it up.
What to do, though? In the dating world, you can just break up with a jerk – but this is different. I don’t want to break up with my scale. I need it. I like it. There, I said it: I like my scale!
My scale is a compass. So are my tape measure, my heart rate monitor, and my pedometer. I need these tools so that I know whether or not I’m staying on the path. I like that my scale tells me where I am and how I’m doing, I just don’t like it when I’ve done everything right and worked really hard…and it goes up a pound. What the hell kind of mind game is that?
And how’s this for having bad scale karma: One morning, I was miffed that the scale wouldn’t budge. A few minutes later, as I’m sitting on the potty, hubby yells through the door that I should get on the scale when I’m done because “I always lose a pound or two…ha ha ha!”. How witty, really. Don’t go near him, girls…he’s all mine! Don’t get me started on men and the weird “pride” they have about their productivity in the bathroom. Anyway, I followed hubby’s advice and got on the scale after I was…productive. Know what happened? The number on the scale went UP. UP!!!
Frustration with the scale is just one of the excuses I’ve used in the past when I stopped trying to be healthy. I’d just curl up in a room with a box of Little Debbies and all would be right with the world again. That’s not happening this time. This time I’m taking a proactive stance against Mr. Scale and his numbers game. In the next few days, Mr. Scale is going to get a facelift…and he’s going to end up looking something like this:
Pretty good, huh? I love it. I’m going to tailor mine towards my personality, though, so it won’t look exactly like this…but you can bet I’ll post pictures when I’m done. 🙂
Until then, I’m avoiding Mr. Scale for a few days. I try not to get on it every day, anyway. Since it went down a pound on Friday morning, however, I’m trying to give Mr. Scale some healthy distance. If I get on it and it goes up, I’m just going to get pissed off. And I don’t like being pissed off.
Speaking of being pissed off, it’s late Sunday afternoon and the weekend is almost over. What the hell happened there? I think I’ll go take a break and play The Sims 3 for a while and then I’ll go clean the kitchen. Again. Hubby’s making himself some pulled pork and I’m sure he’s left the usual trademark messes behind: barbeque sauce in the silverware drawer and a greasy hand print or two on my cabinets.
Maybe I should smack him with my scale.