Friday, September 26, 2008

Becky Addresses the Scale


Dear Scale,
Yes.
You.
The one in my daughter's room on the floor.
There's no other scale in the house, so who else would it be?
Not to be disrespectful, of course. Please stay calm. Please stay at zero.


But let's speak frankly, little friend. You know me quite well, so don't act like this is a surprise. You see me almost every day, usually shivering and wearing nothing.
Quit laughing. Don't agitate me, okay?

Remember you are somewhat fragile. Plastic can crack so easily, you know? A quick blow with a hammer and oh gosh, your guts are hanging out and you're babbling like last year's cell phone.

Yes, I know my cell phone came from the grocery store. What of it? Don't try to distract me.


You're very quick to add a pound or two if I have relaxed and ingested a slice or two of cake.


You jump your number up instantly. I understand that you don't accept excuses and I'm fine with that. I'm the same way in my class. I'm sure you feel that is a display of high standards and I don't say that's wrong.


And no one is faster than you at hefting on an extra half pound if I enjoy a few too many grapes.

Oh my, you can be cranky about that. Real chicken rather than Weight Watchers entrees? Your heart is cold.

All of that is okay.

But if I suffer and sacrifice for TWO BLOODY WEEKS, you are cool and indifferent. You do nothing. You give out the same number day after day after f-ing day.

Now I'm not losing my temper. I've kept my calm with far bigger and better appliances than you. Ask the water heater, who annoys the living shit out of me on a daily basis.
But I just want to point out a few things. IT'S NOT LIKE I'M POUNDING DOWN FRENCH FRIES, OKAY? Sorry. What I mean is, I don't eat potatoes. I don't eat bread. I don't eat desserts or pasta or even rice. Never a potato chip, never a cookie.


AND WHAT REWARD DO I GET? NONE. Okay, okay, I know it's all a numbers game. I know the rules.

Would you take a bribe? I'm not really serious, but would you? If I stood on one leg, would it make a difference? That's what I thought.

You want me to starve, don't you?

Well, here's what you are, Scale. You are plain cruel. Despicable, reprehensible, and loathsome in the extreme.

But be advised that I will not give up. I am going to win.

Just don't forget that a fall from the second floor could be quite painful. And I have some very big hammers out in my shed.

With all love,
becky
http://www.statcounter.com/

4 Comments:

At 8:55 PM , Blogger Kristina said...

This is one of your best. Classic Becky!

 
At 5:03 AM , Blogger Kay said...

Hear! Hear! Let's all gang up on those reprehensible (I love taking any opportunity to use that word, so thanks Becky!) machines. Reprehensible, I say -reprehensible!!!
No more chocolate until Christmas? Ugh ! I can't bear the thought. Wine only in the weekend? Life is so dull when you're watching the weight - believe me, I know!
I can feel scales rage building.

 
At 6:23 AM , Blogger Becky Motew said...

Oh, and it's only gotten worse, Kay. I'm grumbling and grumbling. Thanks for the sentiment, you guys.
b

 
At 7:04 PM , Blogger AR said...

Sometimes when you hit a plateau, eating is actually the answer. A big fat sub sandwhich after a work-out can be just the thing to jump-start the metabolism if your body is doing that starvation-fear fat-hording thing.

 

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home