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Heavy thoughts

We don't have any scales in the house, except for a little postal scale, but that doesn't really count since it can't handle weights of more than a pound.

I'm pretty good with only knowing my weight when I go to the doctor's office. The fit of my clothes lets me know when to lay off the high calorie stuff and get a little more exercise.

Since last fall, when I knew I was going to have to sashay around in a red satin evening gown for that wedding in January, I started keeping track more carefully by using the scale at the gym. That scale was telling me the same thing as the doctor's office scale and it indicated a downward trend over time, which was the information I really wanted.

Then I started a course of physical therapy which took so much time that I stopped going to the gym. Fast forward quite a lot of months, and I've started going again. The scale says I've lost seven pounds.

I know that isn't true. My jeans say that isn't true and they would never lie to me.

The scale has to have been recalibrated.

What do I really weigh? I guess I'll find out in a couple weeks when I go to the doctor's office.

This reminds me of a girl I worked with on a summer job, way back when I was in college. One day, out of the blue and with perfect deadpan delivery, she said, "I was disappointed that I wasn't losing weight. So last night I tried the scale in the other bathroom. I lost five pounds in an hour."