The "S" Word

No, no…it’s not what you’re thinking. I’m talking SCALE. As in bathroom scale. As in the thing you stand on to get your weight. Or hopefully lack of weight.

I have this love/hate relationship with my scale. It used to be in my bedroom. I’ve exiled it to the basement. Since, as you know, I hate walking downstairs…it’s a perfect place for it to live.

On every food/diet program you are told to weigh yourself. Once a day. Once a week. For a while I had a scale addiction. First thing in the morning I’d wake up and hop on the scale. Not liking what I saw, I’d go to the bathroom and then get on it again. Still not happy, I’d go back to bed for a bit. One time, I did just that, got back on the scale and I had gained a pound. A pound?? From what?? Air??

Then there is the trick of moving the scale to the left or right. Automatic weight change. One inch over, three inches down. It can be a harrowing experience. This is why my scale is in the basement. I know women who jump on the scale 3-4 times a day. After workouts, after having a stomach flu. I would rather judge my weight loss by how my clothes fit.

My sister gets on the scale every day. She’s the only one I know who gets on the scale AFTER a vacation. She’s a very brave woman. I am in constant denial. I try to justify gastronomic events: I just scarfed down that pizza but hey, I walked it off shopping. Yeah, the scale doesn’t do excuses.

I think, that when I finally get within 10 pounds of my goal weight I will invest in a new scale. Then I will weigh myself every few days. I would like a talking scale that says: Ellen, you have 10 pounds to go. Atta girl! Until that time, however, I will keep the old scale in basement exile and visit it on laundry day.

And now, it’s time to try on those skinny jeans again. Who knows? One of these days they’ll fit just right. Scale? Eat your heart out!