The Talking Scale
Monday, November 16, 2009
Today I am going to really “switch gears”.
I want you to know that this morning I realized I have a love – hate relationship with my weight. Yes, you heard me right, my weight. Stated simply, I love it when I feel thin and hate it when I feel fat. The irony is that the difference might only be 5 pounds, but what a difference that makes to ME!
I have tried every diet in North America. Yes, I’ve tried the grapefruit diet, the rice diet, the protein diet and of course, the lovely cabbage soup diet. Obviously none have had long-term results for me. To make matters worse, I don’t ever compare myself to Queen Latifah or Rosie O’Donnell. No, I compare myself to Heidi Klum who is not only 8 inches taller than I, but drop dead beautiful and surely at least 20 years my junior. Already I’m sure you can see where this is headed…
You would think that because of my weight issues I would never weigh myself. Now that might actually be intelligent. But of course, that’s not what I choose to do. Instead, I am actually obsessed with the weighing-in process.
With a great deal of trepidation, every single morning and every single evening I step on the scale. To add more trauma, on weekends I include a mid-day weigh-in.
Now if I think I may have actually dropped a pound or two overnight, I frankly look forward to the process. When I fear the scale will not be my best friend, I agonize as I take off my shoes and clothes and actually try to balance myself on the scale to get better results. Not an easy task.
What makes the process even more interesting is that I have a “talking scale”. I take my big toe and press the button at the end of the scale. Then a very authoritative male voice says, “Enter your memory number.” I immediately do as he says. In the same dictatorial voice, he replies, “Please step on the scale.” The ritual is always the same.
Yesterday morning at weigh in time, when Mr. Scale gave his command, I actually hesitated. I knew I had eaten way too much pasta the evening before. When you add in the red wine and the ice cream with whipped cream and Grand Marnier, I felt confident that Mr. Scale was going to be down right nasty.
I was right. Because I hesitated, Mr. Scale, who like most men has absolutely NO patience, said again in an even stronger deeper voice, “PLEASE STEP ON THE SCALE.”
I fear him so I did exactly as he said. To my utter astonishment he announced the good news! “Your weight is 131, you’ve lost one pound. Have a nice day.” Oh my gosh, I was ecstatic! I lost a pound!! Oh yes, Mr. Scale. I love you. I actually lost a pound, thank you, thank you, thank you. Mr. Scale I want you to have a really nice day too. And I really do love you, Mr. Nice Scale.
All day, I continued to be a happy thin person.
Then this morning, again I followed his orders. This time the news was not so good. Mr. Scale announced. “Your weight is 135, you’ve gained 4 pounds. Have a nice day.”
Excuse me, Mr. Make My Day Miserable Scale. You tell me I’ve gained 4 pounds and then you have the audacity to suggest that I should have a nice day. If you wanted my day to be “nice” how about rephrasing your response.
I continued talking to him. “Like every other male in existence, you have absolutely no sensitivity. You could have said, “My, you’re looking lovely today. I’m sure those four pounds make you more attractive and voluptuous! You look fabulous.”
If Mr. Scale took a sensitivity course, he might say, “That’s ok honey, it must be hormonal. Plus you’ve had a lot a stress lately. You absolutely deserve that bag of sour cream and vinegar potato chips that you ate. And based on the fact that your family has not been particularly supportive, you really needed that double chocolate fudge cake topped with chocolate ice cream and loaded with chocolate sauce and whipped cream. After all, you did drink that diet Coke instead of regular Coke. So I am proud of you.”
But of course, Mr. Scale is a male. And the term “sensitive male” is a definite oxymoron!
So Mr. Scale makes his irascible remarks and doesn’t care one bit about my feelings. But tonight I learned how to deal with my insensitive, uncaring Mr. Male Scale
As I stepped on the scale tonight he unemotionally announced, “Your weight is 136, you've gained 1 pound. Have a nice day.”
I simply got off the scale and in my nastiest voice said, “Blank YOU.”
I then proceeded to take Mr. Nasty Talk Scale on a walk outside and throw him directly into the trash. Finally, the end of the one and only dysfunctional, abusive relationship I had. Hooray for me!
Guess what? It worked! I feel GREAT!!!! Now, if I could only find a hunky, handsome, nice scale, life would be perfect. Guess I’ll keep dreaming…
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