I recently purchased a new bathroom scale. It’s a Weight Watchers one with all the bells and whistles. Not only does it tell you your weight, but it does everything except make your morning coffee (BMI, hydration level and fat percentage…all of which do NOT make me happy).Why, you might ask, would I buy a new scale? Truthfully? It is a form of torture I’ve grown accustomed to. I’ve had a love/hate relationship with my scale for a long time and well, I am a glutton for punishment. I am a writer, therefore, I’m just a little bit odd (okay, I’m a lot odd).
But in answer to your query, there were two reasons why I bought a new scale. I could no longer see the numbers on my old scale. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be and I didn’t want to put on my glasses because I didn’t want the extra weight (I know that’s silly), but the main reason? My old scale had a voice. Yes, it did (at least in my head). Whose voice did I hear, you ask? Well, as crazy as this may sound….Jack Nicholson. Yes, Jack, in all his sarcastic glory. And he hurt my feelings every time I stepped on the darned thing! Oh, the things he said!So I bought this fancy new scale in the hopes that I would never hear Jack scream and cry and beg me to get off when I stepped on him…I mean ‘it’, and it did work. I no longer hear Jack…..but the voice I hear now is much worse.
Who do I hear?
Roseanne Rosannadanna (aka Gilda Radnor)! Yes, you heard me. No, she doesn’t scream and cry and demand that I step off, but the sarcasm is still there (in that thick
I’m thinking of just tossing the darn scale and never stepping on it again. What do you think?
As always, happy reading (and staying off the scale)Marie
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