So it’s Sunday and that means my scale was a-callin’ me out for our regular weekly showdown. I did well this week, with three consecutive days consuming less than 2,000 calories, but still I stepped to my nemesis with a mixture of trepidation and fear as to what series of glowing red numbers would show up on its tiny display.
Planting myself fully onto the tiny platform the three zeros stayed put for an eternity, as if the little mechanism that calculates was having trouble figuring out how to fire. Did I lose a pound? Two (that was my guess)? None (yikes)??? Perhaps I even put some back on (double yikes)?????
Then the numbers came up and my jaw dropped. That couldn’t be right. I stepped off the scale, reloaded and fired again. The numbers were the same and my jaw dropped again. Once more I disembarked and reboarded, even moving the scale to a different section of hardwood in case some warp in the floor was influencing the thing.
Same again. The scale read:
I’d lost five pounds — FIVE!!! — this past week, for a total of nine in three weeks. Hawesome!
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