There aren’t too many things in life that I have a love/hate relationship with. But my relationship with my bathroom scale probably ranks right up there with my love/hate relationship with my thighs. Since I started working out and losing weight I’ve become obsessed with my scale. Oh, it’s not one of those funny, ha-ha obsessions; it’s an unhealthy one.
I drag my $19.98 Wal-Mart digital scale out every morning I wake up. Of course, first I pee to make sure I get rid of any water weight. I carefully place the scale on my tile and slowly get on. If I don’t like the number I go through the whole rigmarole:
1. Take a dump. Nothing like cleaning the pipes, right? Rid myself of any unwanted waste and the chicken pita from the night before
2. Do a few jumping jacks
3. Scoot the scale onto a different floor tile and another and another
4. Log my weight in my handy-dandy journal that I keep in my vanity
Does it work?
Hell no! I usually end up weighing more than I did before I took a crap and did the jumping jacks!
It’s so frustrating. Maybe it was better when I didn’t care about my weight. I used to go to my annual gynecologist appointment and dread the whole weigh-in. I’d sit in the lobby with all the other women and think about that stupid medical scale. When the nurse would finally call my name after 2 ½ hours, she’d go through her whole spiel:
“Hi, Sandra. How are you today? If you wouldn’t mind hopping on this scale so that I can get your weight and then I’ll get your blood pressure…”
I place my purse on the chair next to the scale and proceed to take off my heels, my necklace, bracelets, earrings, watch, wipe off any excess blush, brush out any added hairspray and remove my nail polish that might interfere with my true weigh-in. If I could get butt-naked in the hallway, I would. I stand on the scale and tell the nurse:
“Umm, I am going to turn away while you take my weight. I do NOT want to hear you sigh. I do NOT want to hear the scraping of that big ass square weight slide across the metal that alerts me that you need to add more lbs to the scale. I do NOT want to hear your pen write the 3 digit numbers on my file. I do NOT want to know what my weight is. Just smile and return the metal square thing on the scale back to it’s original position when you’re done. And by the way, when was the last time the Department of Executive Administration Weights and Measures came by to conduct an inspection on this particular scale??”
A bit drastic? Not to me.
I sit down and she takes my blood pressure. She tells me that my blood pressure is a little high. NO KIDDING? After placing my fat ass on the scale, my blood pressure probably won’t go back to normal for at least a few hours.
So, as you can see…it’s been a turbulent relationship-me & my scale. I try and keep the healthy mind-set of ‘As long as I look and feel good, who cares what the numbers are’. Yet, there are those mornings that I want to take the scale and fling the damn thing out the window…
but then…
I’d have one less thing to complain about.
I drag my $19.98 Wal-Mart digital scale out every morning I wake up. Of course, first I pee to make sure I get rid of any water weight. I carefully place the scale on my tile and slowly get on. If I don’t like the number I go through the whole rigmarole:
1. Take a dump. Nothing like cleaning the pipes, right? Rid myself of any unwanted waste and the chicken pita from the night before
2. Do a few jumping jacks
3. Scoot the scale onto a different floor tile and another and another
4. Log my weight in my handy-dandy journal that I keep in my vanity
Does it work?
Hell no! I usually end up weighing more than I did before I took a crap and did the jumping jacks!
It’s so frustrating. Maybe it was better when I didn’t care about my weight. I used to go to my annual gynecologist appointment and dread the whole weigh-in. I’d sit in the lobby with all the other women and think about that stupid medical scale. When the nurse would finally call my name after 2 ½ hours, she’d go through her whole spiel:
“Hi, Sandra. How are you today? If you wouldn’t mind hopping on this scale so that I can get your weight and then I’ll get your blood pressure…”
I place my purse on the chair next to the scale and proceed to take off my heels, my necklace, bracelets, earrings, watch, wipe off any excess blush, brush out any added hairspray and remove my nail polish that might interfere with my true weigh-in. If I could get butt-naked in the hallway, I would. I stand on the scale and tell the nurse:
“Umm, I am going to turn away while you take my weight. I do NOT want to hear you sigh. I do NOT want to hear the scraping of that big ass square weight slide across the metal that alerts me that you need to add more lbs to the scale. I do NOT want to hear your pen write the 3 digit numbers on my file. I do NOT want to know what my weight is. Just smile and return the metal square thing on the scale back to it’s original position when you’re done. And by the way, when was the last time the Department of Executive Administration Weights and Measures came by to conduct an inspection on this particular scale??”
A bit drastic? Not to me.
I sit down and she takes my blood pressure. She tells me that my blood pressure is a little high. NO KIDDING? After placing my fat ass on the scale, my blood pressure probably won’t go back to normal for at least a few hours.
So, as you can see…it’s been a turbulent relationship-me & my scale. I try and keep the healthy mind-set of ‘As long as I look and feel good, who cares what the numbers are’. Yet, there are those mornings that I want to take the scale and fling the damn thing out the window…
but then…
I’d have one less thing to complain about.
2 comments:
Dear Dr. Mom,
Been reading your blog, and have to say love it and your sense of humor!
The reason I'm posting is because I thought it might add something to this post if you added a link in it to an article on blood pressure. That way readers could learn more about the subject.
One such article you might consider is this one, which I wrote to raise awareness and help people understand the subject.
I know it's a lot to ask, but would really appreciate it.
Thanks again for the great blog!
All the best,
David
Thanks for taking the time out to read it, David. And of course I'll link your article :)
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