Dear Mr. Scale –
This letter is to put you on notice regarding your poor work performance.
After our heated conversation this morning, I feel it prudent to remind you that you work for me. It is not the other way around. Therefore, when I am working extremely hard and performing at the top of my game, I expect you to put the same energy into your own job. I will even provide a specific example so that there can be no doubt as to the area in which you need to improve.
Last night, I landed in a sweaty heap on the couch after spending 30 minutes playing “Dance on Broadway” on the Playstation. I even burned extra calories fighting the dogs off because, apparently, my dancing makes it appear that I’m having some kind of seizure and need to be rescued. I also believe I should get credit for the amount of blood I lost when Hemi the cat decided the only way to get me to rest was to hurl her fat little body at the back of my leg hang by her claws. Finally, I should be awarded extra points for my ninja-like reflexes. Not every person can catch a controller in mid-air as it hurdles towards the flat screen. Then again, I should not have scoffed at tightening the wrist straps – so perhaps we can just leave that one alone.
After nearly taking out a living room lamp with my slick dance moves, I decided that the treadmill would be the safest place to get my cardio on. I did a full 30 minutes on the treadmill, just as I promised the cheering section on my Facebook Fan Page. (Hi girls!) Well, 30 minutes and 11 seconds…but who’s counting? By the time my four asses hit the couch again, I was drenched in sweat and breathing heavier than a tweener at a Bieber sighting. ‘Nuff said.
Based on your past performance issues, I had a feeling that we were going to get into a tangle this morning – and I was right as usual. After being just 1 pound away from the 350’s and working my ass off last night, I expected a much more favorable report from you this morning. Instead, not only did you dash my hopes of hitting the 350’s, but you also did the unfathomable: you added 1 pound.
You unimaginable bastard. I’ve known some jerks in my time, buddy, but you really take the cake! Wait, there’s no cake in this house anymore. You really take the…ground turkey, you putz! I try never to say unkind things about a person, but you…you…well, you are just a cold piece of lucite with a lithium battery where your heart should be! There…I said it!!!
I’m sorry if you think I’m being harsh, but I think we need to clear the air. It’s also time for you to learn a little Logic 101, my friend. Just because you flash a number at me doesn’t mean it’s true. There is no way I could have accidentally ingested overnight the 3,500 extra calories it takes to gain a pound. The extra calories didn’t fly out of the air vents, slide down the walls, or crawl across the ground and attach themselves to my ass. That shit doesn’t happen unless you’re standing within 50 yards of a Dairy Queen – everybody knows that!
You would do well to remember who the boss is in this relationship, Mr. Scale, and the fact of the matter is that you are my bitch. This shit just got real.
I’m going to give you a little time to think about what I’ve said and let you re-examine your priorities. I realize that it may not be the most enjoyable thing to have people stand on your face first thing in the morning, but if you didn’t enjoy that kind of thing then you should have chosen another profession.
I have no intention of terminating our relationship at this time, but if your performance doesn’t immediately and consistently improve, I will not hesitate to take you out to Hot Mess Hubby’s woodshop and plow through your LED brain with the table saw. So you go ahead and cop that attitude, sweetie. If you know what’s good for you, the next time we meet the first two numbers I see on your face better be a 3 and a 5. I’ve earned the 350’s and you will not deny me.
We will talk again in a few days and I trust that your attitude will improve.