For the first time in my life, I am the proud {?} owner of a bathroom scale. When I was little, my parents had a scale like the doctor's office has - with the little notch that moves from pound to pound until the scale is balanced and you're staring at THE NUMBER. I'm pretty sure we kids broke that scale. And I haven't shared a home with a scale ever since.
It should be said that I could have used a scale during my freshman year of college, since I gained upwards of thirty pounds. What? I was dealing with a break-up and soft serve ice cream covered with orange soda seemed like a balanced breakfast! Okay, it's not, but it sure tastes just like a creamcicle.
I refused to have a scale in the house with each of my pregnancies. It's enough to step on the scale in front of a nurse every month, then every two weeks, then every week, just watching the poundage add up, hoping that by removing my shoes I might have magically not gain five pounds.
But now, well now I have reached the point where I need to have a scale in my house. I am on the swift downward spiral to Forty. I had a baby eight months ago and am rounding the corner to reclaiming my body from the nursing infant child. I am ready to be the controlling partner in my ever stormy relationship with food. And I am
participating in a program developed by my sis-in-law that is going to help me be a healthier person in general.
These reasons are what brought me face to face with the shelf full of scales at my lovely local Target. I stared and cowered. I almost turned and ran. The choices were overwhelming. Do I buy the one that calculates body fat? Heck no! I'm just now ready to put a number on my weight - no body fat discussions allowed! Do I buy the one with the robotic voice that says my weight out loud? Heck no! I don't want to HEAR it. I just want to see it. So I skip over all the scales priced $50 to $17.99 and go for none other than the scale pictured above at a mere $7.99.
My new scale and I came home together. I followed the instructions, setting the scale on a level surface and aligning the tick mark with zero pounds when the scale was at rest. Then I weighed myself - right there, fully clothed in the middle of the day. And I loved what that scale told me! It said, "All your non-exercising has really paid off. Way to go!"
When the Hubby came home I told him all about my new friend, the scale. The Hubby went up to the bathroom, introduced himself, stepped on, and in one quick moment ruined my happy day. "There is no way this scale is right," he said. "Oh, yes, it is right," I replied a little too desperately. But he assured me there was "no way he weighed less now than he did in high school".
The next day he weighed himself in the gym at his office on one of those doctor's scales. He came home and broke it to me gently that our new scale was a mere ten pounds off.
And this, my friends, is why no one should ever own a scale.