Eight pounds… well maybe
I’m not sure that I actually lost eight pounds. The afternoon that we got home I immediately stepped on the scale and it said I had GAINED two pounds! GAINED TWO POUNDS!! After three weeks of eating salads and DRINKING WATER! Oh… hell… no!!
Now as you might imagine… I was a bit peeved… one might even say that I was on the verge of a conniption that at the very least included carting fancy-pants new scale down to the river behind the house and flinging it as far as my apparently two-pound-heavier arms could manage.
Not wanting to go through the hassle of waiting for me to buy another — more user friendly — scale, Stace suggested that I wait until morning and try weighing again then. Reluctantly I agreed. During the rest of that night I shot enough seething vengeful looks at fancy-pants scale that even an inanimate object could figure out that self-preservation required immediate action to appease the very large very angry woman.
The next morning I walked slowly up to fancy-pants as if we were facing each other on a dusty street at high noon. Just to give fancy-pants every chance of surviving the next few minutes, I stripped down to only boxers – my thought being that the few minutes it would take to get enough clothes on to head down to the river without horrifying the neighbors might be all that stood between fancy-pants-$45-scale and a watery grave if it still insisted that I had gained two pounds. Hearing the traditional gun-fight music soundtrack in my head, I paused for a moment, took a deep breath and then stepped up. I stood stock still and waited for the little digital display to determine fancy-pants’ fate.
“372″ Ok then… eight pounds… that’s more like it. You survive another month, my friend, well done.