As I was settling into bed one night, I happened to catch my husband out of the corner of my eye.
He was getting on the scale.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I yelled at him. He jerked his head around and looked at me with alarm.
“What? I’m weighing myself.”
I jumped out of bed and yanked him off the scale.
“You can’t do that now!” I said emphatically.
“You have to weigh yourself first thing in the morning, after you go to the bathroom, before you eat breakfast and when you’re completely naked,” I said. “Everybody knows that.”
“What happens if I don’t do that?” he asked.
“You will weigh MORE!” I said and shuddered.
I was stunned that my husband was so oblivious to the scale rules. It is common knowledge that you are at your lightest first thing in the morning and that clothes and food can add micro-ounces. This is why most women ask for the first appointment when they go to the doctor’s office and insist on disrobing before getting on the scale. When I go to the doctor, I go full-on Airport TSA Checkpoint, removing my shoes, belt, jackets, jewelry and anything else that might adversely affect the number on the scale. Conversely, my husband will get on the scale fully clothed, at any time of day, not even removing his shoes or belt, and then step off seemingly unscathed, no matter what the number is. It was dumbfounding.
When I weigh myself first thing in the morning, I not only remove my pajamas, but my mouthguard, as well. Then I will step on the scale and if I don’t like the number it shows me, I will move the scale around the room until I get a number I like better. If I still don’t like the number, I will tell everyone who will listen that my scale is broken. If the doctor’s office has the same number (or worse, higher), I will tell him his scale is also broken. And if I’m really desperate, I will break his scale so no other patient has to suffer the same outrage.
The next day I had to take the dog to the vet for his annual physical. When we got in the room, the doctor and his assistant groaned as they lifted the dog onto the examination table. The table also functioned as a scale and I glanced at the dog, who looked unconcerned, as the numbers went higher and higher. Eventually it stopped at a weight that even made me look twice.
“Monty gained 10 pounds over the winter,” said the vet. “He needs to go on a diet.”
“Maybe not,” I replied.
“What do you mean?” asked the doctor.
“It’s late in the day and he needs a grooming.”
“What difference does that make?” asked the doctor.
“If we weigh him first thing in the morning and I take off his collar and shave his coat, he’ll probably be just right.”
For more Lost in Suburbia, visit Tracy’s blog at lostinsuburbia.com
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