A Conversation Between Me and My Scale

I've had numerous conversations with my scale, although most of them are one-way. However, after much frustration, I thought it would I would share what my morning was like between me and the little evil silver box. It may be boring or incredibly odd for some, but it's a risk you take when you get to read inside my very warped mind....

= me
= scale (duh)


And so it begins...

I woke up bright and early this morning, bounding out of bed ready to tackle a new day (ok, seriously, there's no bounding involved since I'm blind as a bat without my contacts or glasses, so that's just asking for trouble, but I digress). I'm feeling pretty peppy this morning as I have my day all mapped out and felt like I did pretty well over the weekend with eating, so I decided to go into the kitchen to meet my co-worker, the scale. I'd say my *friend*, but that's just not the truth. We co-exist and do what needs to be done together, but to say we're truly friends would be a lie. It's kind of like when someone uses the word *love* too much with everything they encounter, it kind of loses its meaning. But me and my scale tolerate each other and only communicate when necessary. Today, I felt it was necessary....

I patter down the stairs and walk over to my scale.
Good morning scale.

(stretches) Good morning. So, today's another weigh in day, eh? I guess there's no need for me to ask, since the only time you bother to come visit me is when you need a weigh-in.

Hmmmm, someone's been talking to their mother again and is grumpy I see. Well, as a matter of fact, it is a weigh-in day for me. And since you've been in a prickly mood the past couple of months, I thought today would be a good day to try again since it's such a nice, sunny day outside, and I thought your demeanor would be a tad better.

(snorts) Yeah, good luck with that.

Well, I'm not going to let you deter me.

Give the girl a cookie for bravery. Oh wait, you don't need any more cookies, do you?

(still smiling at this point) You can try and be snotty, but it's not going to work. I've worked very hard and have really concentrated on my exercise and quality of food, so I'm not afraid of you.

Nor should you be. I'm just here for your calling, so by all means, hop on.

Really? Oh goodie, I'm so excited! I just know you're going to be so proud of me!

Egads, you need therapy lady. Just zip it and step on me with your feet perfectly aligned and no swaying allowed.

Okeedoke. (at this point, I confidently step on the silver box and stare straight ahead for about 5 seconds). Ok, I'm going to look down now, and then we can do the happy dance together!

(evil little laugh escapes) Sure thing cupcake! By all means, take a peek at the proof of all your hard work.

(I comply) Hmmmm, there seems to be something a bit off here. Let me step off and try again. I must have been swaying or holding my breath.

Uh-huh. THAT's what happened.

(Step on again and this time I look down the whole time) Well, that can't be right. How could I have gone UP two pounds? No, something's off. Maybe I need to change the batteries.

WHAT?!? Again with the batteries? My batteries are just fine and you can keep your mitts off of them. Honestly, why don't you just admit that you have failed...again.

I have failed at nothing. It's just a blip. (said snottily with a flick of my hair over my shoulder)

Yeah, you did. You failed again. You hit your 100 pounds lost a few months ago, but only for a day. You ran so far from that milestone that you couldn't even blog about it before you were back up again.

(lip trembles) Well, there's no need to get nasty about it. So I've had my struggles--

Struggles?! Hahahahaha! Oh that's rich lady. Struggles. Puh-leeze. You've become complacent and so obsessed with me and what I'm doing that any other so-called "successes" mean squat. Face it, you're destined to fail and having elastic waist pants with big flower printed shirts with pockets on the boobs, and cankles are your true calling. So stop fighting it. I'm here to support you in that endeavor.

(sniffling now and getting pretty ticked off). You know, you really annoy me. I'm not sure if you are a male or a female. Part of me thinks female because whenever I step on you, you change your mind on a whim and think it's your perogative. Another part of me thinks you're a male because you are completely clueless, and are, in fact, a moron.

(sputters) Moron!! You're calling ME a moron?! Hey, I'm not the one who got all fat and lazy for decades at a time and then wonders why my fat butt can't fit into those stupid resin deck chairs. No sirree, not me. I'm just an innocent scale with a fabulous computer program inside me that just happens to slap you with the truth of your shortcomings whenever I feel like it.

Computer?! As in robot? Ha! I'll tell you who is a fabulous robot. Rosie from the Jetsons!

(GASPS!!!!!!!!)

That's right you evil little nimrod. Rosie baby! She could cook, do laundry, program your coffee while fixing your tie, all at the same time. Oh yeah, and she had a glowing sense of humor and was actually NICE. Now THAT is a computer. You just lay around spewing judgment all day long, while collecting dust.

Don't you DARE talk to me about that trollop! She was overrated and not nearly as compassionate as I am! Could she weigh anybody? No, she could not. By stepping on her, could she pop out a number that would make her masters sing with delight and joy? I don't think so sister.

You haven't done that either.

That's because you're lazy.

Alright, that's IT! I have had it with your snarky comments and your false numbers! You are not the end all of my success---

Yes I am.

You don't get a say in how I feel about myself--

Yes I do.

You are a punk. That's all you are. You are a device to HELP me measure my progress, but that's it. You have been elevated for far too long in my mind and have been living rent-free in the dorm room marked "insecurities".

Look, before you go on another tirade about how you are doing all the other "important" things, let me just stop you right there. Because we all know it's not true. Everybody judges by a number on a scale and the fact that your so-called "goal" (snickers rudely) is 170 pounds is laughable. Laughable I tell you! Can't make it to 120 pounds eh?

With my boobs, I'd look like the letter P standing sideways, so no thanks.

Ok, sure. If that's what you need to say to convince yourself. The fact is, you have never succeeded at losing weight except in high school, and we all know how you did that, which was so not cool.

I'm doing it the right way now, so back off punk.

I'm just saying, since your magic number didn't turn out so great this morning, why not just give yourself some comfort and treat yourself to an *off* day, hmm? No one is home. Who would know?

Um, hello. I would know.

Big whoop, who are you? Nah, I say you give in to temptation and just indulge in your fat side (really, what other side do you have?) Since you obviously have been stuck for a while now, just let yourself slide for a day or two. It'll be our little secret!

Gee, thanks for the great offer, you idiot, but I'm done with the sneaky eating and feeling shame about myself for days on end. That way of living stopped working for me long ago. And although I've fallen into that pattern a time or two since starting on my path, I've realized that it really doesn't do anything for me anymore. The payoff that I thought was there, just isn't. So no, I'm going to go about my day and keep doing what I know is right.

You're weak. You can't succeed. My numbers indicate as much.

(At this point, I do the only thing I can do that seems appropriate)....


=


I'm going analog, punk!

(yells back through the window while laying in a heap on the front lawn) Don't do it! She's my cousin and she'll say the same numbers if I tell her to!


So there it is. My morning conversation with an evil silver box. Where we go from here, I have no idea. So many tears and harsh words have been spoken, it's hard to say whether or not the relationship can be mended. It's still out there yapping away at me, trying to make me feel like crap about myself, and sometimes it manages to win. But for now, I'm ok. If I could just get it to shut up now.... Oh look, there's Finnegan raising his leg outside. Aw, I love my dog....