[In honor of Fat Tuesday]
I want you to know that I have a very important love/hate relationship …with my weight. Yes, you heard my 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 3-5 pounds, but what a difference that makes to ME.
I have tried every diet in North America. I’ve been on the grapefruit diet, the rice diet, the protein diet, and of course the lovely cabbage soup diet. Obviously none have had long lasting results for me.
Of course my comparison for my weight is not Queen Latifah or Melissa McCarthy. Oh no, I compare myself to Heidi Klum and Angelina Jolie both of whom are 8 inches taller than I, 20+ years younger than I, and drop dead gorgeous. 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 or even take a practical approach of weighing once a week. Now why would I do that –that would actually be intelligent! No, not me –I am compulsive about “weighing in”.
With a great deal of trepidation, every morning and every evening I step on the scale. To add more trauma, on weekends I actually include a mid-day weigh in.
Now if I have skipped a meal or two and think I may have dropped a few pounds, my fears dissipate. When I think the scale will not be my best friend, I agonize as I take off my jewelry, my shoes, my clothes and then 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”. Let me explain. 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! You’re fabulous! Thank you, thank you, thank you.” I continued to talk to this inanimate object, “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.
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 sense of caring. You could have said, my you’re looking lovely today. I’m sure those four pounds makes you more attractive and voluptuous! And look at those breasts; my they are looking full and fabulous. You look amazing.”
If Mr. Scale took a sensitivity course, he might have said, “That’s OK honey, it must be hormonal. Plus you’ve had a lot a stress lately. You absolutely deserve that bag of salt and vinegar potato chips that you ate. And based on the fact that you’ve been working really hard, you absolutely needed that double chocolate fudge cake topped with chocolate ice cream and loaded with chocolate sauce and whipped cream. And after all, you did drink that Diet Coke instead of regular Coke. So I am proud of you. You go Girl!”
But of course, Mr. Scale is a male. And the term sensitive male is definitely an oxymoron!
So, Mr. Scale makes his irascible remarks and doesn’t care one bit about my feelings. But I have now 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 gained 1 pound. Have a nice day”
I simply got off the scale and in my nastiest voice said, “F*** YOU.”
I then proceeded to take Mr. Nasty Talk Scale walked outside and throw him directly into the trash. With great strength, I was finally able to end the one and only dysfunctional, abusive relationship I had. Hooray for me!
Guess what? It worked! I feel GREAT!!!! But I do have to replace my scale. Maybe just maybe I could find a Tom Brady scale –with his hunky voice and of course I want his face and his gorgeous bluish green eyes staring up at me. If I could find that, I might just accompany Mr. Tom Brady Scale into the Red Room!